She pointed her free hand toward his face, and Tristan felt his mouth opening. He tried to close it, but he could not keep his jaws from parting.
Smiling, the second mistress moved the glass of wine to her lower abdomen, and then down farther still until it pressed against the warmth of her groin. Extending one of her long legs, she pointed her toes and placed them into the prince’s mouth, choking him slightly. Pouring the wine from the glass, she silently commanded the liquid to travel between her legs, and then down the length of her right leg and into his mouth.
Tristan began to choke immediately as wine ran down his throat and into his lungs at the same time, bringing him the taste of both her scent and the heavily scented flavor of the grape. Some spilled down the side of his face, ran over the edge of the altar, and splashed on the floor. Tristan arched his back and coughed violently as she poured the wine relentlessly down and into his mouth. Finally she stopped, seeming to enjoy watching his misery as she pulled back her leg to stand over him once again, her arms akimbo. Shaking his head and retching violently, he was finally able to gasp some life-sustaining air into his lungs. When he had finally regained his breath, the second mistress spoke.
“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, it is time to accomplish what I came here for,” she whispered to him, as though they were the only two people in the room, the only two people in the world. A look of undeniable need had begun to come over her face, and her mouth started to twist upward into a vicious snarl. It was almost as if her countenance was changing before his eyes. Turning toward Shailiha, he could see the same strange need beginning to build in his sister, as well.
The prince then turned his face as best he could against the cool hardness of the marble to look at the two gibbets. Wigg and Geldon were still in them, twisting slowly in the air. Wigg was slumped in defeat against the wall of his strange cage, and had tears in his eyes. Tristan watched as the droplets slowly ran down the length of the wizard’s face, leaving small, shining trails as they went. I have never seen the old one cry before, he suddenly realized. We are truly finished.
“The old wizard cannot help you,” Succiu sneered. “No one can help you now.”
She looked at his groin and narrowed her eyes. Suddenly, without warning, the prince began to feel the longings of desire building within him, and the inevitable physical arousal that always accompanied it. He could feel the heat literally growing in him, greater than he had ever known. He lay there beneath her, powerless, in abject terror of what would come next.
“Ah,” the second mistress cooed as she stood above him on the white altar, her eyes hungrily taking in the length of his body. “Now we are finally ready to begin.”
Slowly, almost carefully, she lowered herself down upon him just as Natasha had done, until her face was only inches from his own.
Immediately a searing, unrelenting fire shot through him. Not the usual warm, pleasant beginnings of lovemaking, but an unnatural, all-encompassing, and painful burning that started in his groin and reached out to every corner of his body. He tried to arch his back in defiance, but there was nowhere to go and no way to turn from it.
Succiu looked down on him with now unseeing eyes, her mahogany-colored irises lost high beneath her eyelids, her red lips parted seductively as her pleasure intensified. She began to undulate slowly upon him, her cadence increasing as her pleasure began to build.
The pain Tristan felt was becoming unbearable, the burning sensation increasing even farther as his breath came harder. He was bathed in sweat, most of it his own but some of it belonging to Succiu as she continued to ride him, lost in pleasure.
It was the panic of being raped by Natasha all over again, but this time there was no one to save him. No azure wizard’s noose would come to his aid, and even had there been dreggan or dirk at his back he would have been unable to grip it. This time the sorceresses would win, and he would give them his firstborn. He knew it in his heart, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
And then it happened.
Succiu threw back her head and screamed, and as if she could will it, with that scream came the inevitable waves as they rippled through his groin. But this time, the experience was different.
The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced in his life.
Every nerve was on fire as he, too, began to scream, his sweat-coated body convulsively dancing and jangling like a marionette at the end of unseen strings, his head thrashing violently back and forth, white foam dribbling from the corners of his mouth. To his dazed and controlled mind it seemed to go on forever, his own screams mingling with hers, joining and careening off the white, spotless walls of the Sanctuary.
And then, finally, it was over. Succiu’s eyes returned to normal as she looked down upon him in triumph, her breasts heaving with exertion. She put a hand to one side of his face and stroked it affectionately as his consciousness began to clear.
Finally looking up, he could see that she was still astride him, and her breathing had begun to slow. But there was something different. There was an azure glow all about her. It danced and flickered in the soft light of the room, creating convoluted shadows of violet and blue for a short time before finally receding, and then disappearing altogether. She smiled and lowered her face to within only inches of his own.
“Congratulations,” she purred to him. “No man but you, no one but the Chosen One, could have survived what has just transpired between us. This time it was special for me.” She tilted her head to one side, to watch her words sink into his consciousness. “For you see, my sweet, I have just conceived.”
Tristan tried to stop them, but they just came: tears. He had no clever answers for her. No glib things to say in the wake of what had just happened. He lay there, defenseless, listening to her awful words as she spoke, his tears running wet and salty down the sides of his cheeks. Blood from the wound in his side dripped lazily to the floor.
“Did the old one not tell you?” she asked. “A sorceress can indeed choose whether or not to conceive. For all of my life I have never found a male of sufficient blood quality to justify it. Until now. I’m sure you saw the azure glow that marked the blessed event.” She ran her tongue around the outer edge of her lips, wetting them seductively.
“In addition to that there is one thing more that you should now know. A sorceress can greatly accelerate her pregnancy. Already I can feel it growing in my womb. Our child will be born just three days from now.”
Tristan felt his heart tearing, wishing that he could will himself to die, die and be gone from this place, this world, forever. I have given them what they wanted most, his crying heart called out to him in guilt. I have done more to further their ends than any other person in the history of my nation. And all because of the blood that I carry in my veins. He looked over to his sister to see that she seemed to be caught up in some frantic, sexual need to be part of what had just happened.
“Did you not enjoy your time with me?” Succiu asked cattily as she continued to lie upon him. “This is what it shall be like for you throughout all eternity as we protect you with time enchantments and proceed to take your seed. Time after time. Thank you, my prince. Take comfort in the fact that it matters not whether our first child is a boy or a girl. Either way it will be raised as one of us.” She paused, looking him up and down with what were now more satisfied eyes. Then those almond-shaped eyes narrowed.
“Either way, my sweet, be sure of one thing,” she said as she tossed her head and threw her long, silken hair over one shoulder. “You lose.”