The King's Daughters

Author's note: All participants are 18 years or older.

*****

"Father?"

"Aye?"

"In the land of pharaohs, the blood stays in the family..."

"Aye, brothers wed sisters..."

"Fathers and daughters too..."

He looked at her for a moment, taking her meaning as she stared back at him, defiant, not quailing under his hard gaze as most of his subjects were wont to do. "Aye, and they worship deities who carry upon them the likeness of curs. People whose gods carry the likeness of the lowliest dogs; what is there to learn from such a people?"

"Our people hold the wolf sacred..."

"As a symbol, yes, but we do not worship them and our gods do not carry their likeness but the likeness of men."

"I love you father. I do not want to leave."

"And I you. But you are grown now, and a grown woman must take a husband."

"I will not! There is only one man I belong to!"

"Oh? Who is he? Do I know of him?"

"He resides within these very walls and always has, and you know him better than any other and have done so since birth."

"Sanith! You must not say such things!"

"Why not? I love you and my love is for you only; curse the man who would dare take it, I would see him dead first and me along with him."

"And what of your mother?"

"What of her? I love her too, I would not presume to take her away from you."

"And if this displeases her, what then?"

"She will not be, not unduly so. It is the custom among our people that fathers may wed daughters to maintain the royal bloodline."

"You lie!"

"No father, I speak the truth."

"Then why have I never heard of such?"

"You have never lived among us, the people whose land you conquered and whose royal daughter now rules by your side."

"My people have never heard of such custom and would not countenance it."

"You are king father, by birth and by right. Your word is law; custom is what you decree it to be."

"And who rules as queen then, both you and she being of royal blood?"

"Mother would remain queen and I would be your consort."

"And what of heirs? If you have sons and she continues to birth daughters - ye gods forbid they turn out as wild as you, would this not cause jealousies, dissension within the family?"

"It has happened, but this occurs in many kingdoms, brother against brother, contesting for the throne. All royal families have discord and rivalries, no matter the customs native to them. The Persians wed their cousins and wage war upon their own brothers, as you well know."

"How come you to know such things? You are a woman, what care you for royal intrigues and the blood they shed? Who taught you such?"

"Mother."

"Bah! Your mother is too wise, nay worldly, for her own good, and yours too."

"She needs must be, to rule in your stead when you were away conquering new lands."

"I have administrators for such."

"They are not as able, and care naught for you, as mother does; their only interests, to maintain their position for as long as it suits them to do so."

"Ahh..." he sighed deeply, not a happy sound. "Your tongue is wise as it is wicked my daughter. Your mother has taught you too well."

"Yes father, my tongue is wicked... and clever too... it has many uses..." Her voice was thick as she stared at him, eyes glistening in the soft candle light.

With a shock, he could feel himself responding, the fire starting to burn through his blood. Aaarggh, why did she have to look so much like her mother, indistinguishable except for her dark hair and grey eyes, more like sister than daughter.

Those upturned breasts, even now rising and falling deliciously beneath the soft silk of her gown, the nipples clearly distended under the thin material, her hips flaring outward, the skin of newborn babes softening her face and silky body, those big eyes melting at him-NAY! HE MUST NOT! His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles whitened with the effort to control himself.

And as he watched her, so too she watched him, her gaze taking on a languid sleepy look, heavy lidded eyes tracing the contours of his chiselled face, brawny chest and broad shoulders. Seeing the effect she had on him, she smiled, a smile secret with untold longings and unrestrained passions held too long inside.

"You're wicked to tempt me so," he said through clenched teeth, the effort to restrain his throbbing need giving his body a slight shudder.

"I do not mean to be father; I just love you, that is all."

"Have you lain with a man?"

"Of course not! You know we must remain untouched until our wedding night."

"Well then, you cannot know what it entails, can you? For all you know, Gabriel could be your love match, a man truly meant to be your bond mate, soul and body as one."

"My body and soul only belong to one man..."

"Bah! You have no experience to say such things, you have no way of knowing if Gabriel is yours and you his, until you've lain with him, as you must."

"I know enough to know no man can match you in battle or in be-"

"Silence! I'm not only your father, but your king, and you will not speak to me with such shamelessness."

She bowed her head.

"How come you to know su-such things?" His voice was hoarse.

She looked up again. "Mother, we talked in preparation for my betrothal."

"Bah! That woman is the bane of my existence, how dare she say such things to you."

"If not mother, than who else should tell me such things father?" Her eyes looked at him, genuinely curious.

"I—she should not have talked of such things, what happens in the privacy of our chambers should remain as such."

"But father, what else could she do? You're the only man she's ever known."

"Enough, I grow weary of this." He sighed again. "You will wed Gabriel one moon from now and that'll be the end of it."

"I will not!" She jutted her chin, grey eyes hard as steel. "If you marry me to Gabriel, I swear a blood oath that he will be dead before the wedding night is through; my knife will find his throat as he sleeps."

"Damn you!" Enraged, eyes bulging, veins throbbing, face demonic; his hand flew and Sanith tumbled to the floor. "I am your king, and you will obey me or suffer the consequences!"

She stared up at him in shock, silent tears sliding down her cheeks as her fingers brushed the blood from her lips. Never in the whole of her young life had father struck her, no matter the provocation, and there had been many. Taking a deep breath, she stood up slowly and stared at him for a moment. "I love you father. I always have. I always will. No matter how many times you strike me down, I will always rise again, my love for you intact. There will never be another man for me, save you."

He stared at her, his face white with rage. How dare she defy him! Others had been killed for less. His word was law, his will all encompassing and absolute. No one defied him without facing the consequences; entire clans had been wiped out up to three generations, grandfathers, fathers and sons erased from existence forever for having the temerity to do so. "Sanith..." He ground out through clenched teeth.

"Yes father?"

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do father."

"Then make me happy, do me the honour of obeying me this once and marry Gabriel."

"I'm sorry father, I cannot."

Without another word, the king turned and stormed off, leaving Sanith to glance longingly after him, her cheeks flushed, a slow heat spreading from her belly up to her pounding heart.

Slamming the door as he left his daughter's private quarters, the king stormed through the castle, his boots echoing off the stone floors.

His shadow warped and weaved along the walls as he continued, torches being lit as darkness fell. How dare she defy me thus, the king fumed silently. No one defied him, those who did, soon regretted their folly, their heads hanging from the castle walls. And they hung there still, mouths open in eternal agony as the flesh slowly withered in the hot sun and crows pecked at the rotting eye sockets, seeking what was left of the gelatinous white substance inside.

She was a witch! Just like her godforsaken mother, the king thought, as he continued on his way through the castle. Her liquid eyes, breathy sighs, and languid lips weaving their spell on him, and still he had refused her, as ought he should have. She was of his blood after all.

Teasing him, tempting him, goading him into anger; as if he were some wild beast locked in a cage for her amusement, poked and prodded at until he snapped at the bars. Yet there were no bars to hold him, save that of his own will to continually war with the deadliest enemy of all: the human heart; his own emotions.

Sanith, damn her, his own daughter, daring to mock him with that clever tongue of hers, boldly licking her lips and telling him of its many uses! She had best be careful he thought, for no bars held him, except his iron will, and that like any other man, could imprison one's self for only so long.

To his eternal regret, he had spoiled Sanith and her sisters too much, sowing the seeds of their future rebelliousness with his indulgence of their unruly ways.

From birth, all they had ever wanted, they got, without reserve, without restraint; only having to bat those thick, downy lashes and smile those toothy smiles at him, and his heart melted, all his worries washed away in the giddy tide of their girlish giggles.

Thinking back now, he realized his overindulgence of their selfish ways. Why, a maid servant had been made to stand on one foot from dawn to dusk because the poor girl had dropped Sanith's dress on the floor and was not quick enough for her young mistress' liking in picking it up. And this was only one of many he had heard tell of; imagine how many more such pointless exercises of their privileged ways his daughters had exhibited when he was away in foreign lands, battling for supremacy.

And where had their mother, the queen, been during all this? Well, he could not entirely fault her; she was kept busy ruling in his stead when he was away. Ye gods alone knew how difficult it was for a woman from his own clan to assume power, let alone a foreign born woman birthed in the land of their greatest rival, Saurithia.

Yes, he smiled to himself, conquering Saurithia after ten long hard years of bloodshed had been his greatest triumph, for he had taken away its greatest prize, his queen and love mate, Sonja.

She was an able ruler in his absence, keeping order and peace throughout his kingdom, maintaining the security of their borders, making sure taxes were paid on time. Aye, she was as brilliant as she was beautiful. Too brilliant for her own good sometimes; imparting this knowledge into her daughters (his daughters too, god forbid) - the ways and whys of ruling a kingdom.

It was just as well Sonja was his queen and not a man with a blade in his hands, for she would make a dangerous enemy. That soft silky body of hers housed strength unseen, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface of a calm sea. Formidable she was, in and out of bed.

Thinking of that porcelain countenance, those flaming locks as he ran his coarse hands through their silken strands, that silky creamy alabaster softness writhing beneath him, he quickened his step. And those pouty lips—Ahhh... that mouth of hers had uses in and out of their chambers, taming him in bed and taming his administrative counsel with words of wisdom when he was away in battle.

Aye she was bewitching, and had passed her bewitching looks onto her daughters (his too!) along with her bewitching ways. It was not entirely her fault - but it was her fault! Sanith, Sauren, and Sheela were the spitting image of their mother in bearing and unfortunately, in temperament.

He had sown seeds too wild in spoiling his daughters and now he would reap the consequences. Thinking of Sanith's mocking smile as she licked her lips and tempted him, he felt a hot rage burning through him anew; knotting his belly, grinding his teeth, cracking his knuckles.

And beneath the rage, something else, something darker, just as violent as the rage, savagely throbbing, driving him forward through the castle, the servants wisely averting their eyes, knowing better than to stand in his way when the wrath was upon him.

"Sonja!" the king bellowed, bursting through the door of his wife's chambers.

"My lord?" Sonja opened another door, stepping forth from her dressing chamber. A long purple gown of the purest, softest velvet draped her figure.

"Get thee in bed woman!" He slammed the door closed.

"My lord, I have neither bathed nor perfumed myself..."

"No need, you will be bathed in fragrant sweat soon enough."

"My lord, p-please, it is for your pleasure as well as-"

"Silence! The need is upon me and you ignore it at your own peril." He stomped toward her, dropping his cloak, tunic, boots and sword along the floor.

She looked at him, trembling, knowing the need was too strong for her husband to control, so strong it would soon consume him and her along with him.

Blood lust and body lust, they were both sides of the same coin for the men of his clan; the clan of the wolf.

She backed toward the bed, her eyes glued to his wrathful or wanton, or both, she could not tell which would win the war in his face.

Just as the back of her thighs touched the bed, he pounced upon her, a savage growl torn from his throat.

"AHHH!" Involuntarily she screamed, his savage wolfish grin looming as his weight bore her down.

For a moment he lay still, stretched out on top of her, dark eyes hard as obsidian, inspecting her face, watching the green pools of her eyes wavering softly. Then his nose nuzzled, sniffing at her neck, her hair, the cleft of her breasts; all the while a low growl hummed in his throat.

She sighed, a deep breathy sound, gasping, her heart hammering. She felt his palms cup her breasts and she reached up, making as if to remove her gown.

With a savage growl, the king's teeth gripped the top of the bodice and he whipped his head, tearing the gown down to her waist.

Sonja's hands reached up, as if to cover herself, a deep red blush spreading across those creamy mounds, matching the redness of the pouty nipples.

In a frenzy now, the king lifted his pelvis, pushing down his breeches, pushing up her dress and HUHHH—entered her with one mighty thrust, instantly buried up to the hilt.

"OHHH!" She moaned, burying her lips against his shoulders, her eyes squeezed shut. Her insides quaked, she gasped, full, oooh so full, full to bursting.

Ye gods, she was tight! Clenching him, squeezing him, wrapping his center in a scorching velvet glove—CLENCH! He ground his teeth, heard the molars scraping against each other. A slight loosening, tightening, loosening-he pulled back, thrusting forward, back, forward, hot, warm, hot, as she spasmed, pulling him in deeper... deeper... hotter... hotter...

Oh god, oh god-hammering at her center, electric jolts shooting up, oh god-oh god-oh god, wiry hair scraping against hers, ball sac smack-smack-smacking, oh god-spreading wider, fuller, folds flowering, opening, blooming, slippery wet tiny fleshy burning nub shivering quivering scraping sliding, oh god-oh god-oh god-OH GOOOODDDDDDDD!

OWOOOOO! He howled, bursting, shooting, exploding, thrust-thrust-THRUUUUSTING! Her teeth biting his shoulder, grinding against the muscle, red droplets leaking out. With a groan, he collapsed on top of her, toppling like a dead man.

to be continued?