The Will of the Gods Ch. 03

"Who wishes to know the Will of the gods?" The priest's voice seemed to echo across the darkness of the night. For a moment, even the crickets and frogs silenced, as if in anticipation of the answer.

"I, Gregar of Heilaun, rightful king of Eldon" every soldier's head turned toward the pair of them when Gregar spoke. To Regina, there seemed to be hundreds of them. They sat in a circle around the fire on their makeshift seats. Knights, both male and female, stared at the couple. They made a striking contrast in the flickering light of the fire. Gregar stood straight and tall, broad-shouldered and well muscled, in a dark blue shirt over black pants. Next to him, Regina was all curves and softness, the black silk draping loosely about her in gauzy folds that trembled in the cool night wind.

A wave of shame nearly overcame Regina. She fought back the impulse to run from his words—to run from the ceremony. Doing so would only make her look weak. She knew the length of chain would hold firm against any attempt to flee.

"King Gregar of Heilaun, your name is recognized before the gods. The fire is lit in which you will find your answer. Whom do you seek to offer up as slave to the gods?"

"The Princess, Regina of Trandon, daughter of the false king, Bryton of Trandon." Regina bristled. This was not how she wanted to be named for the gods. She stepped forward and opened her mouth to speak.

"The daughter of the false king is recognized before the gods." The priest's voice boomed louder than before, as if trying to stop her protests. She growled in anger. "Bring her forward."

Gregar started down the aisle, Regina following reluctantly at his heels. To fight now would be blasphemous. The Ceremony had begun. The only way out now was for the gods to give her their blessing over the fire.

"Have you been given the means and chance to escape?" The priest asked her.

Regina thought sourly of the wooden hairpins. Her jaw tightened, but she nodded slowly.

"You have been given the chance to make your own fate. That you are here shows us that the gods are willing to submit you to the Ceremony." He gestured toward the steps that led to the platform around the Ceremony fire. "Ascend the bench."

Gregar brought her up the steps. The Ceremony bench consisted of a few planks of wood nailed together and a small platform just below it where she would kneel. The bench rose about six feet off the ground, the top of the bench about a foot above the top of the fire. Stairs led up to it and there was a small platform around it where Gregar could stand. Leather thongs would hold her firmly in place for the duration of the Ceremony. Regina felt the familiar waves of panic that had been keeping her company all day, but pushed them back. The gods would bless her and show Gregar that his claim to the throne was the false one. She steeled her resolve, trying to make herself sure of it.

The booming voice of the priest rang out again. "The offering will lay on the Bench and be bound for the gods."

Gregar unfastened the link that held her hands together. "Lay on your stomach." His voice was calm. With one hand on the small of her back, he pushed her gently forward.

Regina climbed onto the seat, placing her knees on the platform. Gregar looped a strap around each ankle, pulling it tight. Then he looped a piece of leather around each knee, securing her tightly to the platform The next one went around her waist. She found herself unable to move from the waist down.

The fire was warm on her face, but not as warm as she would have liked it to be. The warmer the fire, the better her chances were of escaping this whole ordeal. She could feel the eyes of the soldiers taking in her lithe form. The position of her legs made the already short skirt of her dress ride up higher on her haunches. The slit at her left hip where Gregar had looped the fabric laid her whole thigh bare. Now, nearly that whole side of her ass was visible.

"Bind the wrists of the offering." The priest's voice came again.

Gregar placed a rope around both her wrists. Regina gave the rope a stern appraisal. It was not unheard of for unsavory slavers and corrupt priests to go forward through the Ceremony with a thicker rope. If a Willed slave could prove that the integrity of the proceedings had been compromised, he or she could convince a high priest to render the Ceremony invalid. It had happened before.

Alas, the rope looked right. She could even see the dark purple cord of rope that twisted through it, showing it had been purchased at The Sister's temple. She closed her eyes. Of course, Gregar would not have risked using too thick a rope. The proceedings tonight were just as important to his own claim as they were to the claims of her family.

As he tied the last knot, Gregar bent to her ear. "You're doing beautifully, wren. This won't take long." Finishing with the knot, Gregar stepped backwards, still holding the other end of the rope. He nodded to the priest. Regina began to pray again.

"Bound to the bench, Princess Regina is offered before the gods. By the rite of Ceremony, the rope will be stretched across the fire. There are two elements to the Will of the gods. The first is the fire, which represents the Will of the Mother, the Father, and the Sister. Should the fire rise up to consume the rope, their Will has been revealed. The second element is your own strength, Princess Regina. Should you break the ropes yourself, you are free. These elements work hand in hand. We will uphold the mandate of the gods here tonight. Should the Lady Regina break the bonds before the brand is heated and placed upon her skin, the Will of the gods has spoken." He paused, for dramatic effect. "Should, however, the bindings hold, the Lady Regina will spend the rest of her days on the Earth the possession of King Gregar of Heilan and her afterlife will be spent on her knees at the feet of the gods."

A roar of approval surged from the soldiers seated around the fire. The priest waited for them to quiet down.

"Should the gods Will it, may they raise up the flames and cast aside her bindings. Do all who bear witness today agree, before Mother, Father, and Sister to uphold Their Will?"

"Yes." The soldiers said, although the tone of her voices made Regina doubt the truth of their statements.

"Gregar of Heilaun," the priest continued. "Should the gods raise up their flames and cast aside the bindings of the Lady Regina, do you agree, before Mother, Father, and Sister, to uphold Their Will?"

Gregar nodded, his voice rang out over his men. "Should the gods raise up their flames, I will escort the Princess Regina to the home of her father and bend my knee."

Regina's head jerked. He swore it. He said it before the gods. He said it before the priest and all of his knights. If the bonds broke, the war would be over. He would surrender. She would be free. Her breath quickened in her chest. Perhaps the gods were on her side after all.

"Lay the rope across the fire."

Gregar nodded and walked around the fire, the other end of the rope in his hand. He was careful to leave enough slack in the rope to keep it from going into the fire early. When he reached the pole opposite her, he climbed up the makeshift stairs that rose about two feet off the ground and looped the line firmly through it. He pulled it taut until Regina's hands hung just over the fire, her body flat against the bench, her arms stretched as far as they could go. She tried to pull back, trying to get some slack in the rope so that the center would hang a little closer to the fire, but Gregar was stronger and gave her no room. He tied the rope tight and stepped down to join the priest.

"Place the brand in the coals."

Gregar put the iron in the fire, setting it against the coals at the base. The fire must have been burning for hours. The coals were red, waves of heat blurring her view of them when Regina looked down to see.

Another cheer rose up from the soldiers as the Ceremony truly began. For Regina, it was a race against time. There was only a little wind—a good sign, it meant the fire would rise straight, heating the ropes that bound her hands.

Regina began to pull against the rope with all of her might. The way she was bound to the bench meant she could really only use her upper body to pull. Her shoulders strained as she yanked at the rope desperately. It hardly even looked as if she was moving, but Gregar could soon see sweat on her brow. The muscles that ran across the insides of her arms screamed in pain as Regina pulled.

Everyone in the crowd was silent now, watching the girl fight in the light of the fire. The flames cut long shadows over the center of the circle.

Regina felt the wind die completely. The flames were only about six inches from the rope now. The tongues nearly licked it. Later, some would say that they had.

A fiber of the rope popped. She gasped in excited delight and tugged harder against it. No one seemed to have noticed. The soldiers had not moved or made any noises. She let her shoulders slacken and then tugged again. Another piece popped.

This time, they noticed. She heard the crowd groan in unison, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Gregar take a step forward. In the red light of the fire, he looked worried and she gave him a triumphant smile. The ten fibers of the rope were down to eight. She kept pulling.

As the second fiber snapped so quickly, Gregar realized that his palms were sweating. Perhaps he was too confident in his position, too assured in his claim to the throne. Perhaps this whole thing was a mistake. It was too far along to undo now, he had sworn before the gods and his men. Nervously, he glanced at the brand in the fire. Only about a quarter of it looked red. The rest was an ashy gray. He had to wait for the whole thing to burn a molten scarlet. Only then could he pull it from the fire.

The wind picked back up and the fire moved away from the rope, the flames bending toward Gregar and the soldiers in audience. The group cheered. Gregar nearly let out his own whoop of relief, but held back. He did not want to tempt the gods by over-exerting his excitement. Regina gave a small shudder of dismay, but did not stop pulling. It looked as if another fiber was beginning to fray. If she could only break it, she would have a little more leverage to pull. Each time a fiber broke, she got just a little more room to move. She leaned forward as far as she could muster and then yanked herself back. It was only a few inches, but the rope popped. She raised her head to make sure. The soldiers booed, but Regina's heart soared.

Gregar turned his face into the flames as they came toward him, willing them to stay there with him. The gods had always been good to him, he just needed them for a little while longer. The Lady Regina would be a fine slave in her own standing, but the power this moment brought with her demise would solidify the Heilauns as the ruling family of all Eldon. He watched as Regina continued to struggle. He could see the muscles in her shoulders moving, watched her rock back and forth in the bindings. His eyes charted the slope of her spine and the round curve of her ass. He would borrow this bench from the priest when this was all over and take her in just that position before the week was out.

Again, he glanced at the brand. It was mostly there. Almost completely red. He watched it for a few long moments, but pulled his eyes away. A watched pot never boils, he chided himself and brought his attention back to the girl. As he did, he heard a dismayed cry from the crowd.

The fire licked upwards toward the rope again. He saw Regina gasp in delight. Two more fibers popped almost immediately. She was halfway through the rope. Her mouth was open with glee and excitement. Gregar found himself rubbing his palms with the fingers of either hand. Another fiber popped. Only four more to go. He heard his soldiers gasp. Three.

"Come on," he whispered under his breath, his attention on the brand. He watched the last, small piece of it turn color and glanced toward the priest. At the old man's nod, he pulled it from the fire. This was the worst part. The brand had to grow slightly cooler. It had to turn back to that ashen gray on the outside before it would make the proper mark. If it were too hot, he would ruin the brand, her skin, and the integrity of the Ceremony.

Gregar looked out over the crowd. Every one of his men was on their feet. Some were even standing in their seats, craning their heads to see how much of the rope still held. Gregar heard them groan, saw them put their hands on their faces, some men pointing. He knew before he turned around. Two fibers. They would not hold long. He could see Regina wriggling. There was no wind. The flames kept at her ropes. He looked down at the brand. It was gray.

Forcing himself to keep his steps even and confident, careful not to rush forward like an impatient child, Gregar mounted the steps. He heard the cacophony as the men screamed. He knew without looking. There was only one fiber left.

Regina pulled with all her might, her eyes locked on the rope before her. There was only one fiber. It looked so small and insignificant. She was sure she could see it breaking in the light of the fire. In the base of the flames, she thought she saw the patient face of the Mother looking up at her, a smile on her withered cheeks.

Then, the entire world exploded into a white hot and all-devouring void.

Sir Devon of Groulding unhooked the rope quickly, pulling it away from the heat. He examined the place where the fibers had snapped.

Gregar looked down at the priest. There was something in Gregar's eyes that the soldier acolyte had never seen before from the king—a sort of desperate uncertainty. Sir Devon was not surprised by the look in Gregar's eyes. He had warned Gregar of the precarious position in which he was placing himself. It was unwise to tempt the gods. Their word was true and would hold whatever the outcome. He had made sure that the crown prince understood that he would not jeopardize his name before the gods by faking the Ceremony. Whatever the outcome, he would speak the truth.

Regina woke from her faint slowly, but kept her eyes shut tight, afraid to open them. Someone was unfastening the straps around Regina's ankles and knees. Everything around her was silence except the gentle crackle of the fire before her. She moved her hands and found they met with no resistance. She stiffened in excitement. She had broken the rope. The mother had truly smiled on her in the light of the fire. She had imagined nothing, and had passed out from the excitement of freeing herself.

The audience was so silent that Sir Devon thought he could hear the soldiers breathing as they waited for the verdict. If even half of the last fiber were gone, the verdict would be freedom for the young princess.

The priest looked up at the king and gave a short nod. The rope had held. Gregar smiled. The prince turned toward the men sitting in the audience, paused, and then slowly raised a fist high into the air.

As one, the crowd rose up with a cheer.

Regina's eyes flew open at the noise. In the blink of an eye, knights were all around her dancing, the sounds of revelry overloading her senses. The heat of the fire made her skin feel tight. Dully, she became aware of an excruciating pain in her left leg. That could only mean one thing. She started to shake her head as she sat up, praying it was not true. Her hand fumbled, reaching back to touch the source of the pain. She felt a large hand grab her slender wrist.

"Don't touch it, wren" the voice was sharp as she felt Gregar push her hand away. "You'll just make the pain worse."

"I broke it." She said with certainty. "I broke the rope. The gods want me free. I felt it break. I saw the Mother." Her words were a jumble, coming too quickly.

"You didn't."

"Ask the priest." She looked around, searching the crowd for the graying old man. "It frayed, at least. You can't have gone through with it." She tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp as her eyes roamed desperately over the crowd of bodies.

"I have." He pointed toward the man she sought.. The robed acolyte was holding the rope out to two soldiers. They studied it for a moment and then one slapped the other on the back. They both burst into a roar of laughter.

"No, I—"

Gregar yanked her wrist forcefully and pulled her close to him. "That is the last time you speak to me without calling me Master." Placing his hand on her waist, he pressed her to him, careful not to touch the fresh mark on her hip. He grabbed her chin and pulled her face up so that she was forced to stare into his steely grey eyes. With the light of the flames dancing in his pupils, he was like an all-consuming fire. Regina suddenly found it difficult to breathe. That now familiar molten feeling began in her core as she looked into the pools of his eyes. There was danger there, but Regina found herself drawn in, leaning into his chest as he held her against him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said quietly. He tightened his grip on her chin, digging his fingers into her jaw. Eyes transfixed, held captive in his gaze, she felt herself melting into him. "Yes, Master."

"Good girl," Gregar ran his hand through her hair. No smile traced his lips, but the gesture was approving. He slipped the leash's hook back through the collar and made his way down the stairs. Not even bothering to lock her hands back together, he quickened his pace once they hit the ground.

'Yes, Master.'

Two little words from her lips and Gregar's cock was a solid mass that strained against the cotton of his pants. Thank the gods his men were too focused on getting properly drunk to notice the objects of their celebration slipping through the crowd. He would never have lived down their comments.

All he could think about was yanking her into the tent and throwing her onto the furs of his bed. He wanted to slide his cock so deep inside of her that she could feel it in her throat. 'Calm down,' urged the part of himself not controlled by his aching manhood. 'Not yet. Not tonight. She has too many other things to learn.'

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He tugged the leash so she stumbled a bit, just to spite her. He had owned many slaves, broken many slaves, but none of them had ever left him so out of his head.

Regina had no choice but to hurry behind him at a near run. Her gait was slightly uneven as she favored her Marked left leg. Every step was a small dose of agony. Why was he moving so fast? She looked over her shoulder to see if there was anything they were running from, but saw nothing. The only light was back at the center of the camp where all the commotion was. When they reached his tent, he shoved her inside in front of him.

"Stand," he grunted as he followed her inside. There was an urgency in his voice that she had not heard before.

She looked confused. "But I am—"

"The way I told you earlier." When she did not move instantly, he growled, "With your hands behind your head." Again, the fearsome urgency undercut his words. Regina clasped her hands behind her neck, afraid to challenge him.

Gregar waited for her to do as she was told. The girl moved her feet nervously, he could tell she was frightened of the heat in his voice. She followed his instructions quickly and to the letter. Good. He wanted her frightened. He stalked behind her, letting his eyes wash over her body, taking in her full, perky breasts, the lovely curve of her waist, the pert, round globes of her ass. His eyes came to rest against the Gods' Trident burned into her hip. A thrill ran through him.

She was his.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on her waist to steady her before he kicked her feet so her legs were spread roughly shoulder-width apart. "Like this, girl."