Prince Gyllen Ch. 06

The Valkyrie's Warhorn, a popular inn on the outskirts of the port town of Nautisk within the Kingdom of Noregr, was holding host to a troop of Snjórlandic soldiers, fresh from a recent conflict in the continent's southern climates. Battalions were a regular sight at the inn as they would often spend the night there to rest their fight-weary selves before shoving off in the morning to take part in their next bloody campaign across the sea or, on a slimmer chance, merely returning to Snjórland, should that be where they had originated. This particular group who was occupying the pub that night belonged to the latter category. They were, however, possibly the rowdiest gang of warriors the establishment had not seen since the days of barbarian war-chiefs pillaging villages centuries prior. The squad consisted of several orcs, a lone minotaur and a smattering of humans, one of whom being the heir-apparent to Snjórland's throne: Princess Jern.

Jern was the big sister to all the other successors, not just in age but also in size, personality and reputation. The first thing anybody would notice was her height; standing a clear few heads worth above most people. Combine that with her cropped, fiery, orange hair and pretty, if rather unwashed and bruised, face and she would be difficult to miss amongst a crowd, assuming her rumbustious vernacular did not already give her presence away. Currently, she was wearing a heavy set of battered steel armour, filled with many nicks and dents as reminders of her numerous past clashes, with her helmet removed to allow her mouth easier access to her pint. At the moment, she was standing up with two feet on a bench, exaggerating her already impressive stature, and merrily belting out a medley of off-key folk ballads as she haphazardly swung her umpteenth tankard of the evening around in the air, taking the occasional sloppy swig between verses.

"Everything's on me, lads! Go nuts!" Jern slurred, and was responded by a roar of cheers from her companions-in-arms as they joined in with her horribly out-of-tune singing. The staff had all huddled into the back end of the kitchens, praying to their gods that the unruly soldiers would eventually change their minds about partying the entire night away and all retire off to bed soon, as every single one of them was far too afraid to try and usher out a bunch of intoxicated, fully-armed orcs and the famous Iron Princess, even as a group. The outfit's merrymaking had scared, and was continually scaring, away any and all other customers, but at least their money was helping to soften the blow, as they had rented out every available rooms and were able to pay for their drinks without qualm. The benefits of being friends with somebody who has access to the royal treasury, I suppose.

The only sober one amongst the lot was Leif: Jern's young personal manservant-turned-squire whom she dragged away from his chores at Malmhule Castle to aid her on her quests (mostly in the form of carrying her equipment for her), following her around everywhere she ventured like an obedient pup, though refusing to partake in any direct combat nor, more relevantly, getting absolutely plastered. Rather, he just sat awkwardly by his lonesome as he observed the ensuing mania safely from afar.

"Oi, Larry! Is she always like this?" One of the orcs asked his fellow fighter. "I thought princesses were suppose to be...y'know, sweeter."

"You're new to the unit, right?" Larry replied. "Don't let 'er social standin' fool ya, kid. She's a wild child, that one."

"No foolin'! Did ya see 'er out on the field? I'm jus' glad I'm on her side. She's a demon with a zweihander! Never seen a fiercer fighter!"

"I dunno 'bout that...If we're talkin' about our best fighter, then I'd stake me salary on Pasiphaë any day o' the week."

"That's the cow-lady, innit? I s'pose ya hafta be strong if ya gotta carry tits that big every day."

Pasiphaë was sitting at a table opposite to Jern, sipping on her stein. She was a little more composed in her insobriety compared to her contemporaries; just quietly humming along to the war carols with a wide smile across her face. She stood out from the others, being the only minotaur in the contingent, with ivory horns poking up from each side of her skull that added an extra couple of inches to her decently tall height and made her seem roughly as large as the princess. The rest of her was also prototypical for her race: curled, fluffy deep brown hair that grew long past her shoulders, a bronze shade of skin, hooves replacing where a human would have their feet and a thin tail tipped with fur jutting from her lower back. Ironically, her most defining feature was bovine-like only in function rather than form, and that being the pair of massive humanoid mammaries bulging from her chest, each easily topping the size of her own head by at least one-and-a-half times the volume and only emphasised further by her choice in costume, wearing what was little more than an over-glorified bikini.

Her wardrobe unashamedly showed off all the endowments and curves on her finely toned body. It consisted only of two iron plates fastened to her chest with a cord of leather to keep her udders at bay and somewhat protected, though the circles did little to hide the vast majority of her boob-flesh from the world as they only covered roughly a third of the surface area on each globe, and a chainmail loin cloth fastened around her shapely hips, hanging and jangling from both the back and the front of her waist to just above her knees, shielding her otherwise naked genitals and plump buttocks. With no underwear to speak of, she had to keep mindful not to cross her legs lest she was actively seeking a mate for the evening; a diversion her loving househusband certainly would never approve of, and yet it was a diversion that happened far, far more frequently than he was wiser when his wife was on tour.

"Oh, it's not like I don't love him anymore or anything. Far from it! It's just that a girl still has her needs, and her sweet, widdle hubby-bumpkin isn't always going to be there to attend them, right? Besides, I always make sure to make up for the lost sessions whenever I'm home, plus a little interest just for him~ It's only fair, after all." Is how she would explain her skewed logic when confronted about her overt adultery. Perhaps there was some correlation between that and the six calves (and counting!) she had already mothered up till the present.

"Princess, haven't you had enough already...?" Leif advised his superior, with a prominent quaver of worry within the tone of his voice, while he watched her act even more rambunctiously than was normal.

"Yeah, right!" Jern guffawed, hopping back down onto her seat to give her sidekick a chummy, and unintentionally rough, slap on the back, the bridge of her nose glowing bright red. "It's not even midnight yet! This party's just getting started! Oh, wait, hang onto this, will you? I gotta go take a leak real quick..." Jern shoved her mug into Leif's hands quicker than he could consent before standing up and blindly stumbling backwards into a corner of the room, her foot kicking into a bucket and mop on the way which she instantly mistook for the privy in her sloshed state. Without a second thought, the princess unfastened the straps that kept her faulds in place, letting them fall to the wooden floorboards with a rude thud. Jern then pulled her simple, hemp-woven slacks down and moved her equally basic briefs aside to uncover her muff. She stationed herself above assumed latrine, spreading her sturdy legs and began to relieve herself for all the platoon to see with precisely zero concern.

Urine sprayed messily around the general area beneath her; some sprinkled onto the walls, most splashed on the ground around the bucket, and a little was actually able to land into the container she was aiming for. Naturally, there were many hoots of laughter and one naff wolf-whistle coming from the men while she was indecently exposing herself. Leif, feeling the humiliation on his master's behalf, averted his eyes as he darted towards the princess and ineffectively pulled on her burly arm while desperately trying to convince her that the corner was, in fact, not the little girl's room, yet Jern remained ignorant to his pleading, as if on purpose, while she continued to blissfully release the rest of her pent-up piss, some of which was starting to trickle down her robust inner thighs.

Eventually, Jern did listen to Leif, though not before she had already concluded her weeing. She reattached her armour and was guided back to her seat where she resumed her boozing as if she never even gotten up from her table at all. "Are ya sure yer a princess?" A single anonymous soldier could be heard shouting, to which Jern's only answer was the flash of her extended index and middle finger's backsides in the general direction from which she heard the shout come from without removing her lips from the rim of her cup.

"So...Jern or Pasiphaë?" One of the men asked his drinking buddy in a low voice from out of left field.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Y'know...'oo do ya thinks 'otter?"

"Grow up, man."

"C'mooon!"

"Ah, awright. If it shuts ya up, I'll say Jern then. Ya 'appy?"

"You fuckin' serious?"

"Why? What's wrong with 'er? She keeps fit, she's got a nice face..."

"But the tits, mate! Pasiphaë's all like...ba-boing!" He interjected, making motions around his chest to highlight his innuendo. "Jern's way too flat for my likin'." As soon as he finished speaking his mind, there was a jarring, loud bang from somebody setting their mug down too quickly, likely on purpose. Everybody went silent as they faced the source of the sound: Princess Jern, with her hand furiously clenched around the handle of her stein, firmly pressing it against her table.

"Care to repeat that, soldier?" Jern mumbled to the warrior who made the recent remark, quietly but teeming with an underlying sense of livid wrath.

"R-repeat wot, cap'n?" The male stuttered.

"The part where I'm a butch shemale with no tits!" Jern roared, flying off the proverbial handle as she was particularly sensitive over her lack of voluptuous lady-mounds, especially considering how her mother and younger sister were the famously busty Queen Helio and Princess Eir respectively.

"I didn' say it like that, sir, er, ma'am! I mean ma'am!" The orc held his gauntleted hands to his face just as Jern was looking as though she was about ready to hurl her drinking glass across the room towards him before Leif mercifully intervened.

"P-princess! Please! Control yourself!" The squire situated himself between Jern and the man she was about to conk but was clearly unable to keep the six plus feet of uncompromising female frenzy held at bay for very much longer. "Y-you're still the strongest one here!" He blurted out, trying to think of something, anything that would restore her cool. Jern blinked once and came out of her rage-induced trance, sitting herself back down and bursting into another hearty laugh.

"Aye, that's true! Looks don't matter much with what's really important, huh?" Jern guffawed, giving Leif another friendly, if painful, pat on the back. Leif tanked the thump. He was just relieved his words had an effect on the hot-blooded royal.

"Ahem!" The normally reserved Pasiphaë then cleared her throat loud enough to be heard by all. "The strongest, that is, apart from me was what you meant to say...right, Leif?"

"Well, uh..." Leif stuttered, straining to come up with something else to say that would please everybody.

"Says who, you fat cow?" Jern stood once again, her umbrage resurfacing, pushing Leif out of her way before he could add to his statement and strutted in the minotaur's direction. At the same time, Pasiphaë also got up onto her hooves and walked over to the centre of the room to confront the princess.

"Oh, let's reminisce a little, shall we, Jern?" The horned vixen asked. "Let's see...who was it that duelled the Sablyan general into submission? Or captured Fort Muratas single-handedly, hmm?"

"I think all the blood in your head has gone to your boobs, Pasi." Jern retorted. "Are you forgetting who softened up that general before he fled straight into you by accident? Or who climbed over that fort's walls and got those doors open in the first place to let your sorry arse in?"

Pasiphaë and Jern were right up against one another now, their muscular chests colliding as Jern's cuirass squished into Pasi's plate-protected titties, both of them staring daggers into one another's eyes.

"Fight!" Somebody could be heard shouting from the onlookers, which then quickly turned into a repetitious chant by the entire crowd, egging the two females on to duke it out for supremacy, playing to their fighter instincts.

"What do you say, Pasi? A quick rumble to decide who's stronger?" Jern challenged her sister-in-arms.

"Fine by me. Just don't start crying when you lose, alright, princess?" The minotaur accepted.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Leif flailed his arms as he got himself between the girls. "Can we not fight amongst ourselves? I thought we were all friends here!" Everybody booed towards his unwanted objections. Jern placed an arm around the assistant's shoulder and took him aside before slipping a couple gold coins into his hand.

"Say, Leif, how about you go into town and catch a nice play for an hour or three?" The princess ushered her manservant away. "Now there's a good boy..."

"You're just so impossible sometimes, princess..." Leif reluctantly saw himself out, knowing when he and his conscience were no longer desired. He only hoped that his master would not get herself or her challenger too terribly roughed up.

"Anybody got a blade handy?" Jern asked the rest of her boys. Somebody tossed a small dagger to the princess and, rather than shank Pasiphaë then and there, she hunched over and scratched a large, rough circle into the floor around her and the minotaur before tossing the weapon aside. "Okay, that's good enough."

Jern unhesitatingly undressed from her protective gear, casually chucking the pieces of metal away from her person and out the ring as though they were mere cloth, leaving her standing in nothing but her practical, beige vest and panties, remaining unaware of the several males drooling over the sight of her showing off some skin. In her underwear, much more of Jern's body could be more clearly seen, including her perfectly muscled legs and arms that proved she took training and fighting as serious as any other infantryperson, not to mention the slight amount of dark hair in her armpits that could be noticed whenever she raised them, indicating she had gone for quite a while without having an opportunity to shave underneath there.

"We'll do Snjórland rules, alright? Ten seconds on your back or getting pushed out the ring means you lose." Jern said to her opponent, stretching her arms to warm up her ligaments.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Let's just get this over with." Pasiphaë replied, opposite of the princess and raring to go.

"Well, get your kit off then! No armour allowed."

"But then I'll be completely naked..." Pasi made a staged gasp, followed by a coy smile as her sultry gaze wandered over to the snorting bulls leering around her.

"Oh, for Odin's sake..." The princess groaned. "Look, if it matters that much, I'll get naked too then, deal?" She proposed. Pasiphaë nodded in agreement.

Jern pulled her vest up over her head and dropped her briefs to the floor, kicking them all aside and displaying even more of her impressive brawn, and not once feeling a semblance of shame as she did so. In fact, she was feeling somewhat glad that she had this excuse to exhibit the athletic, statuesque physique she was so proud of maintaining. Her six abdominal muscles were all very well defined, curly ginger pubic hairs somewhat kept her slit concealed from plain view and, contrary to her tantrum earlier, was not quite fully flat-chested. She was still nowhere near as busty as Pasiphaë, mind, though she still did have slight stacks around her nipples on top of a pair of solid pectorals, but they were still not big enough to necessitate the use of a proper brassiere. She would no doubt have been the subject of the vast majority of the male gazes present, if Pasi was not also stripping within the same room.

The minotaur woman had pulled off her breast coverings and slid the chainmail off her curvaceous arse, leaving nothing to hide on her tanned body. Her titanic tits slightly sagged, as they would naturally do at their size without support, and were decorated with two large, pink areolae that contrasted nicely against her skin tone while her crotch hair was neatly trimmed into an upside-down triangular shape. The minotaur teasingly wiggled her arse while she was being ogled, some of the men even openly complimenting her appearance in their own crass ways. Jern, on the other hand, was furious upon seeing some of her soldiers popping erections at the sight of her second-in-command during what was supposed to be a respectable contest between two warriors.

"Don't make light of my challenge!" Jern bellowed, pointing a finger at Pasiphaë.

"I'm just messing about a little~" Pasi responded.

"There's no messing about when there is honour is at stake!"

"Whatever. I'm ready when you are." The more mature and level-headed of the two chuckled.

The two combatants positioned themselves in the centre of the ring, facing each other down and beginning their match immediately. Straight away, they both went to grapple and grip their fingers into each other's shoulders, pushing against one another with all their might. With their feet firmly planted on the floor, neither one of them was budging an inch. Their muscles bulged as they grunted in an effort to make the other flinch, both of them already starting to sweat from the strain they were each undergoing. After several minutes of being locked in a stalemate, Pasiphaë decided to take a risk by raising one of her hooves from the ground, a move which could have made her lose her balance and result in her being easily pushed down or out, and kicked at Jern's shins.

Jern was too focused on the minotaur's upper body that she didn't even notice the manoeuvre until a strike was felt against her lower leg. Pasiphaë got in an especially lucky shot that was able to topple the princess onto her back. The bovine did not hesitate to take this opportunity to pounce onto the grounded princess, planting her bare, bronze behind firmly onto Jern's abs, using her entire bodyweight to keep her foe down. Pasi quickly reached over and pinned Jern's arms down too while the warrior princess struggled beneath, kicking at the minotaur's back with her legs in a futile attempt to force the cow to dismount from her person. Pasiphaë winced a little from the blows but otherwise did not react in the slightest, seriously determined to prove herself as the stronger of the two despite what her jestful attitude may have indicated prior.

The crowd began to count to ten in unison as Jern laid on her back and tried to think of a way out of her predicament before she lost. An idea came to her when she saw the two massive orbs hanging above her from Pasiphaë's trunk. Using what stamina she had in reserve, she slowly raised her arms against Pasi's power. There wasn't enough strength behind her forelimbs to topple the minotaur, Jern knew that. Instead, she was aiming for something else. The princess then suddenly grasped hold onto Pasiphaë's boobies, roughly kneading the pair of luscious lumps into the minotaur's chest, which soon caused milk to start spewing from her nubs. Jern remembered once overhearing one of her men mention how Pasi's breasts were a major weak point on her as she would become extensively turned on in an instant and in an instant if they were given even the slightest amount of stimulation, making her easily lactate and become incredibly light-headed as a result.