The Legend of Rosewood House

'Come to me, Ailianor.' She heard in her head and her heart and she looked up at Soran again and his eyes trapped her across the distance.

She choked on her breath, swaying and nearly falling before she caught herself, gasping for air as she began walking down the table, her steps slow and hesitant as her mind warred with her body once again. She looked to one side and saw Eilleth, sitting in Cagan's lap and the young woman smiled and spread her legs, revealing that Cagan's rod was buried deep in her sex. To the other side Adleth was bent over the table, Morroy behind her while Riar, a red, raw wound where his manhood had been, watched with broken-hearted jealousy. She looked down at Vabris as she passed him and he only smiled up at her. Then she saw Benich and a tear escaped him but he didn't move. A hand plucked at the garment that she wore and it slipped from her shoulders and down her arms and then she was bare as she looked back to Soran again and as she met his gaze, the last of her will and resistance fled. She stopped before him, standing on the end of the table as he looked up at her and she was his.

A tear escaped her as he reached up to take her hands and she could only watch, a spectator in her own body as she stepped down and sat on the end of the table. She laid back, her legs spread around him, her arms over her head and his hands ran down her body, caressing her skin as he leaned in close and drank deeply of her scent. She felt a vibration against her skin and she gasped as it seemed to light a fire within her. It began deep in her belly, behind her navel, and blossomed out. She felt it most acutely in her sex, but her nipples were like points of fire as it radiated up her spine and into her head and her eyes rolled back, her back arched and her voice returned with a loud cry.

"Ahhhhh!" It filled her, a sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain, and it was inescapable.

It was in her flesh and it was in her mind and when it finally faded away she lay on the table, gasping for breath as she looked up at Soran standing over her. He had somehow shed his clothing and as he leaned closer, into the circle of her legs, she felt the weight of his rod press against her sex, the girth of it grinding into the soft flesh of her labia, spreading them an releasing the thick nectar trapped within. She shuddered at the feeling, staring up at him as his hands came to rest on either side of her. And she felt energized, filled with an almost boundless vigour as he leaned down and she rose up to meet him, kissing him with all of the passion that she felt, the hunger and the lust that was pent up within her. It frightened her a little, but she didn't have the ability to resist it, so she surrendered, clinging to him and kissing him deeply, opening her mouth to invite his tongue within. Her legs closed around him and she lifted her hips, pressing her sex against him more firmly, wanting to feel more than she already was.

And he gave her just what she wanted, kissing her back with equal hunger, his hands grasping her body and pulling her close as his tongue tangled with hers and his manhood seemed to throb against her sex. She felt him shift, felt his his back tense and seem to swell as the thickness of his shaft slid across her sex, coating itself with her wetness and she knew what he was going to do, knew what was next as she felt the tip glide across her entrance and then press forward. This was the moment, right here on this table, watched by her handmaidens and guards. She knew that they were watching, knew that they were all looking at her, but she didn't care. She tightened her legs, pulled him closer as she lifted her hips to meet him and he thrust into her. She felt a moment of tearing pain, a stinging deep within her core as her hymen was torn away, but then it was gone and she felt him press slowly but steadily into her.

She moaned in delight at the feeling, her nails dragging across his back as she felt him fill her completely, pressing hard at her innermost core. She had spent weeks in the coach, cloistered with Enaia and the twins, fearing the night of her marriage, fearing the moment that she would have to consummate her wedding to Rudigan and afraid that she would not be able to allow it. No one had told her anything about sex other than it was the duty of the wife to serve the husband in his bed. They had never told her the how or the why of it, never told her anything other than she would have to suffer it to produce heirs for her husband. No one had ever told her that it could feel like this, never told her that anything could feel this good. She cried out, falling back onto the table as he withdrew again, just the simple slide of his shaft through her core felt better than anything she had ever felt in her life. Even what he had done with his mouth, what Eilleth had done again later, was nothing compared to this.

She panted for breath as she felt him pause, his tip resting at her entrance for just a moment before he thrust again and filled her once more, he stroked faster this time, rocking her body as he did, forcing another moan from her throat. She looked up at him and what she saw was not human, had never been human, but she was not afraid. She was past fear, past struggling and past questioning. She had surrendered utterly and she was his. The great thing that had hidden behind the mask of Soran Lerient, with it's hulking back and powerful arms, covered in fur with a long, bestial face filled with terrible fangs, was her lover and she accepted him. She reached up to caress his face with both hands and a growl echoed from his chest even as his face nuzzled into her hands, snuffling at her scent as he drew back and thrust again. She cried out with each thrust, voicing her pleasure and the unholy joy that he awoke within her. It felt more wonderful than she had ever thought possible. He was tireless, his rod long and thick and he glided through her now with ease, her body adjusted to him and her mind surrendered to him and her soul trapped within the prison of her body, caged within her mind as he mated with her, thrusting constantly, filling and withdrawing only to fill again a moment later.

And her cries rose along with her pleasure, building and growing until she screamed in release. The pleasure that tore through her was a living thing, making her heart race and her core clench, her back arch and her scream rose to a howl that was matched by him. It tore through her and pushed everything else from her thoughts until all she cared about was her monstrous lover and the feelings that he had awakened within her. She lifted her head and focused on him again, her hands grasping the mane of dark hair that ringed his head and she pulled him down to kiss him once more, feeling his long tongue within her mouth and his thick rod filling her with every thrust and something in that moment connected them in a way more deep and profound than mere sex could account for.

Her blood was within him, calling to her, and his blood was within her, doing just the same, and something in her pleasure, something within the nature of what he was, awakened a power within her that flared up and suddenly she could see the truth. She could see the chains that bound him to this house, extending up from his back to vanish in the dark. She could feel his connection to the house, his ties to the land which he had long watered with his own blood and buried the bones of his victims here to make his control absolute. But he had been in hiding for centuries, his control waning and his power dwindling. It had taken nearly everything he had to mire her coach and shatter the wheel and he had spent his last servants so that he could gain new concubines, though his hold on Enaia had been too tenuous and she had broken free. Still, it had been worth it to him, for he had gained her, and by drinking her blood, he had regained his former strength in days instead of the decades or even centuries it might have taken.

She saw the truth of herself, as well. It was just a glimpse but she could see the power within herself, the... something within her blood that had called to him, that had made him gamble everything to control her. And what he had taken, the taste of her that had restored him to youth and power, was but a single raindrop compared to the entire ocean that was still within her. She saw that she could take it back, if she wanted, take it back and more, take all that he was, drain him and all of those attached to him until nothing remained. But she did not, because she was thankful for the truth he had shown her, thankful that he had revealed her slavery to her. The vision, the glimpse of the truth slipped away from her again and she let it go, not wanting to be anything but a young woman with her first lover... with her first love... and she looked up at him, at the man restored from the monster within. She reached up to cup his cheek, smiling as his thrusts rocked her body, her voice escaping in little moans and gasps as he looked down at her, his arms braced on the table and sweat sheening his skin.

She could feel her pleasure rising again already, coaxed forth by the tireless slip and pull of his shaft within her, given power by the adoration she felt for him. She saw him grit his teeth as his breathing grew harsh, his own release but moments away and she smiled, joy rising up within her as his release came, his groan of pleasure filling her ears as his seed flooded her womb, coaxing forth her own release and she cried out with passion, her voice lifting and the moment seeming to draw on...

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The door to the house opened and Vabris stood to one side as the retinue stepped in. A few men in house livery of some sort as well as four other figures, an older man and woman, clearly married, and two smaller forms, slim and feminine. They pushed back the hoods that they wore and revealed the faces of two young women, alike enough that it was clear to see that they were sisters and the daughters of the older woman.

The man stepped forward and bowed slightly at the waist. "Master Lerient, I thank you for extending your hospitality." He said. "I am Davion Lord Carmichael and this is my wife, Larissa." He said, gesturing to the older woman. She was tall and pretty, looking some years younger than her ageing husband. "And these are our daughters, Kiera and Eirin." As they were introduced the two young women curtsied politely.

"Your Grace." Soran said with a warm smile as he stepped down and bowed deeply to the lord. "I welcome you and your family to Rosewood House. May I present my daughters, Eilleth and Adleth." He said and the two young women curtsied to the Lord, chiming in with identical greetings. "My man Benich tells me that you are somewhat mired and your coach will require some attention."

"Indeed." Davion said with a nod, impressed by the politeness of the master of the house as well as the clear beauty and pleasing aesthetics of the manor itself.

"You are welcome to stay as long as you need, your Grace. Allow me to show you to your rooms myself." He said and Davion fell in beside him as they walked through the entry hall to the great hall where he took in the clean tapestries and white marble of the floor, the polished oak and ebony and paused as they neared the hearth. Hung above it was a painting of a young woman, clearly in the throes of passion. Her hair was long and pale and covered what propriety dictated should be hidden, but it was very clear that she wore nothing at all.

"Oh my." Davion said, pausing to take the image in. The face of the woman in the painting looked very familiar to him for some reason, but he could not place just why.

"A painting of my late wife." Soran said, pausing beside the Lord. "She died some years ago and I painted this to remember her by. She was a woman of great passion."

"You must have loved her very much." Davion said, tracing the lines of the young woman's body with his eyes. 'And very often, if you had any sense about you.' He thought.

"Indeed I did." Soran replied in a way that suggested he was answering both the spoken question and the unspoken observation at the same time.

"Your skill at painting is better than I have ever seen before." Davion commented. "She almost looks as if she was alive."

"Yes." Soran said with a small smile as he looked at the painting. "I think I managed to capture her very nicely."

They remained looking at the painting for a while before they moved on. Davion peered side-wise at his host. Soran Lerient was still a young man, scarce appearing old enough to have two grown daughters. He was hale and strong and Davion, the father of two daughters himself, thought that he might pair very nicely with his younger daughter, Eirin. It was something he planned to give a lot of thought to in the days ahead. Meanwhile, the painting remained, so vivid that you could almost hear her moan.

————————Epilogue————————

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Some months later, young Ledan Sangray, just months away from his wedding, disappeared while out riding with the parties searching for his sister. He was found weeks later in a filthy back-road inn on a dirt street in a nearby village with his genitals crushed as if by a hammer. It was commented on by several that such was the punishment for rapists and perhaps, given the frequency with which house Sandgray seemed to go through maids, was a punishment that was well deserved. He was taken back to his home in Cahmery but even the best healers and most skilled of magic users could not repair the damage. His parents sent him to a far-flung estate and formally adopted two of his illegitimate sons into their house to carry on the name. He lived a very long life alone with his punishment and many nights he could be heard screaming, consumed by drink and madness, begging for a mercy that never came.

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...forever passed in a haze, seeming no more than the blink of an eye, though Ailianor realized that that was not the truth. She lay gasping on the floor, her body trembling as cold air pebbled her skin and sent a shiver through her body. Her mind was reeling, trying to cope with what had happened to her. Her lover was nowhere to be seen, nor was the grand hall with the polished wood and vibrant hangings. Instead she was in a room of plain stone, the ceiling of rough boards with odd, alien symbols carved into them, the floor beneath her just the same and she turned to her side and tried to sit up, but she was so weak she could barely move. Her breath shuddered in her chest and she trembled all over with exhaustion and hunger, her throat so dry and parched that it felt like she had never tasted water before.

There was a buzzing sound and she felt a touch, felt something drape over her nakedness and she was turned to her back again. She managed to make her eyes focus, eventually, on a face that looked at her with clear concern.

"...you alright?" The voice came finally, it was male and strangely accented. "Miss, are you alright?" He repeated and Ailianor blinked as she looked up at him, her head clearing some but her mind still swimming, overloaded with sensations. Her skin tingled and her sex ached and she cast about for Soran, for her lover, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Soran?" She whispered, looking around and ignoring the man who was holding her. "Where..." She shook her head and regretted it, the room spinning like a top.

"Lie still." The stranger said, steadying her. She would have vomited had there been anything in her belly. "You've been trapped for a long time." The stranger went on, looking into her eyes. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I... I was making love." She said and the man blushed, his eyes wide.

"Well, I should have expected that, given the nature of the painting." He sighed and shifted and a moment later he rose with her in his arms. As he walked toward a nearby door, he glanced at her again. "You will need sleep and food and drink. It will take time to restore you to health. So rest, you will need it." She rested her head on his shoulder and she was asleep before he even left the room, her dreams recalling the time she had spent in Rosewood House with Soran Lerient and his household. She dreamed of Enaia and Aeren, of Adleth and Eilleth and the guardsmen.

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Nursing her back to health took some time; weeks passed, and then months as she was fed and cared for by servants in the house. Tharin, the master of the house, visited her daily, often sitting with her for some hours and listening as she told her story. He took notes carefully and one day, when Ailianor was able to walk about on her own, he found her in the walled garden of his home.

"I have found out something about you, Ailianor." He said, settling down next to her on a stone bench.

"Master Moorstone." She said with a pleasant smile. "I would be eager to hear it."

"There is a story about a young noblewoman that went missing in the forests between Cahmery and Braidor. It was thought that she fell afoul of bandits, but no ransom was ever asked. She was betrothed to the lord of Braidor, one Rudigan Esgaat."

"Yes!" Ailianor said, smiling eagerly. "That was me. What news do you have? Has my family been contacted?"

"Ailianor..." He said gently. "I don't know how to tell you this, but..." He sighed and started again. "Rudigan Esgaat apparently loved you very much. He spent his entire fortune and the rest of his life looking for you and eventually vanished into the forests. Some say that his bones were found, years later, but I cannot verify the truth of that."

"His bones..." Ailianor said, hands covering her mouth.

"The expenditure of his fortune, as well as the madness that consumed him in his last years left his demesne weakened and ripe for plucking and the resulting war eventually brought down the entire kingdom, allowing much of the realm to be absorbed into Otelan. Most of the high houses were eradicated, though a few changed their loyalties and were given some small favour when Otelan had put the men of the royal family to death." He said and she gasped, hands covering her mouth and tears tracking down her cheeks.

"How... how long have I..." She asked and Tharin sighed and looked at her with a grim expression.

"Ailianor, that story is more than five hundred years old." He said and she gasped as the reality of it settled around her shoulders like a stone weight.

Five hundred years...

She had been trapped in that painting for more than five centuries. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks as she tried to comprehend just how much the world would have changed in that time and she understood that all of her friends and family, everyone she had ever known, was long dead. She listened as Tharin told her what he had been able to learn about them, how her family had given alliance to Otelan only to vanish some hundred years or so after the war, how only daughters had been born and the house had been absorbed by another. The world, and everything she had known about it, was different and she would have to find some way to make her own way in the world now. She was not a noblewoman any longer, she had no wealth, no prestige or authority anywhere.

Tharin watched her as she wept and, behind her, two men waited. One with a collar and leash and the other with rope. Ailianor did not know it yet, but her fate had already been decided and the coin had already been counted. She had been born a slave and even after five hundred years trapped in a painting, she was to be a slave again.

The End