Courage of the Empress Read online

  Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicle

  Book Twelve

  Courage of the Empress

  By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury

  @amandasmut

  Cover artwork by Deilan12

  This book and all its contents are copyright 2019 by Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  Map of the Empire of Istanov

  The Chronicle

  The time of monsters was said to be at an end.

  The rise of the great human empires of Istanov, Heimsvak, and the desert kingdom of Shaddobar brought the elves to heel and drove the tribes of orcs, goblins, and stranger monsters to the margins.

  The last great monster uprising occurred more than 50 years ago, when a brave huntress named Penelope Helsdottir prevented the ascension of a new monster god and formed the Huntresses of Ctharne. These unique warrior women were dispatched throughout the known world wherever trouble arose to tame what monsters they could and destroy those that could not be made into allies.

  But within the borders of Istanov, trouble brews. Long years of peace and prosperity have blinded the Istanov dynasty and the people of this nation to a new danger. As monsters gather, seemingly heeding the call of a powerful human leader, will the nobles of Istanov react in time? Or will overconfidence prove the undoing of an empire?

  These are the Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles.

  Triumphant

  The stink of burning fur and monster blood filled the air in a foul medley. Torria Aviera grimaced as the foul stench wafted to her as she made her rounds. Form fitting armour still splattered in the blood and filth of the monsters she’d slain revealed her tall, muscular frame. Her dark hair was bound up in a pony tail, her helmet under her arm and cloak fluttering about her shoulders. The Amazonian duchess of Istanov paused to take in the scene of a number of soldiers hefting another corpse onto the bonfire, the greedy flames licking along the minotaur’s fur. Strangely, it appeared the beast’s neck had been slashed open...

  “Commander.”

  Torria turned as her second in command approached. He went to his knee before her, his mottled green and brown cloak masking much of his body.

  “Ander,” she said. “What did you find?”

  “The monsters fled, my lady,” the man said dutifully. “What few survived have scattered into the forest along with their slaves.”

  “Any sign of a larger encampment?”

  “None, my lady.”

  Torria nodded slowly. As she had thought. A probing assault, likely to test their forces before the true battle. The monster horde under the command of the Duke of Ashes hadn’t really attacked their wing of the empress’s army. She again looked over the remains of the battlefield, tapping the hilt of her sword thoughtfully.

  “Did you take any captives?”

  “None, my lady,” the forester said at once.

  “Good.” Torria glared at the still burning corpses. “Have the marshals finish clearing up this mess. We march soon back to the empress’s main forces in Sallowmarsh. She should hear of this.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  The scout rose and hurried away, leaving Torria to her thoughts. That they were probed meant the monsters were preparing a large-scale assault, that was for certain. Ever since the battle for the Skull Keep, the monsters had been frantically gathering a second horde, even larger than the first, to attempt to crush the human forces. Sweeping down from the north, they’d burned what few communities had survived their initial offensives, enslaving yet more women, slaughtering the men.

  It was a tale told again and again. Fortunately, few communities still braved the front. Those who were smart had long since abandoned their villages and fled back towards Muskov and the towering edifice of Cleaveguard. True, some monsters were bound to lurk within the forests and fields along that route, ambushing the unwary, enslaving or killing the weak. But the rangers and the huntresses of Ctharne who had come to aid Istanov had been doing well in clearing out such creatures.

  And yet, there were always more.

  Sometimes, Torria wondered at that. She had been a captain of Istanov’s scattered military forces all her life. She had led her troops in the defence of her lands and its communities’ countless times. She had always believed in the monsters. Though back in eastern Istanov before the wars, many in the cities doubted such creatures could even exist anymore. Sure, they heard of orcish war bands and the odd terror that lurked about scattered villages, but such things were rarely accorded much attention beyond what could be dragged to the gladiator pits.

  And yet, not even Torria could have guessed the hordes that had boiled from the forests and fields. That had swept from the darkness of the west and surged across the lands. How had they achieved such numbers in such secrecy? She wasn’t sure. Though she suspected that, though word of women seized as breeding stock was now well known, such efforts may have been going on long before they were reported. She wondered how many of Istanov’s daughters had been taken before the empire knew it. Dragged into the darkness, mated by monsters and brutes, used to breed the generation of horrors that now assailed their mother’s lands.

  Torria was not a woman to fear the future. She set forth with the certainty that her empress knew the right path. She had joined Damera during the earliest days, when her brother had seemed unstoppable in his rule. She had known her cousins, and so was sure Damera was the future of their empire. No. The future of man itself in Istanov. Yet even Torria wondered at how humanity might recover from the horrors inflicted upon it by the monster hordes. More than half their realm devoured in darkness. Their men slaughtered, their women carted off for breeding stock for orcs, wulfen, gertlings and worse. So much lost.

  Torria shook her head. No sense lamenting what had happened. She hitched up her sword belt and moved to join a group of assembling knights. She swung herself into the saddle of her warhorse, looking over her troops as they gathered into ranks.

  “March!” she commanded, wheeling her horse about and nudging it forward.

  Behind her, her forces fell into step. A winding snake of men and women marching through bonfires of their inhuman foes, going forth to the next battlefield. And if they won, again to the next.

  Company

  Damera Istanova rested her knuckles on the map, leaning forward and scrutinizing it grimly.

  Beyond the thin walls of the tent was the city Sallowmarsh, its walls heavy and strong. But she had refused the offer of the lord of the city to share his palace. Better she stay with her troops so they would know she led them from the front. Besides, Sallowmarsh had a grim reputation, and more than a few residents had the look of monster in their distant bloodline. She had little doubt the city had been infiltrated by the Duke’s minions or their thralls, and she had no intention of falling prey to traitors from within. She would not let history repeat itself. Too well she recalled the last time she had taken residence in a lord’s keep on the eve of battle. A succubus had infiltrated the city, taking on the shape of a maid. The demonic seductress had nearly managed to devour Damera’s soul before it was killed, and Damera would be a fool not to learn from her mistakes.

  She could hear the now familiar sounds of the camp and the army. The murmur of the soldiery, the crackle of the flames of campfires and the odd clash of steel from smithies and training. She wondered, idly, if she would ever know another sound? If this war against the Duke of Ashes would ever end. Or if this was her destiny. And endless cycle of battle and cam
paign, ending only once she was dead, the mantle to be taken up by her heir.

  She sighed, shaking her head, long blonde hair swishing around her. She’d shed her armour for the night, though kept a sword close at hand. As she had ever since that fateful night in the bath. Her breasts and curvy rump pressed against a silky sleeping robe; the front just slightly undone to reveal the valley of her large breasts.

  She sighed and pushed back from the table, picking up a goblet of wine and sipping it. She grimaced. Bitter.

  There was a knock at the taut fabric of the tent. She turned and smiled as a hooded figure slipped through the entrance.

  Damera smiled warmly. “Your majesty,” she said.

  The man pulled back his hood, revealing a head whose hair and beard were salted with white. Despite his age, Janus Corven, the king of Heimsvak was an impressive specimen, with broad shoulders and a deep, powerful chest. The image of a true king, unlike Damera’s venal brother holed up in Muskov.

  Those steely eyes softened at the sight of the voluptuous empress and Janus stepped forward. “Damera.”

  Eagerly, the shapely empress threw herself into his arms. His embrace wrapped her in firm strength. The scent of leather and steel hung about him like a musk, comforting her. Here was a man who, more than anyone, understood the trials she faced. Who sympathised with her, even though their people were ancestral foes. Her father having even attempted to subjugate the king’s realm not so long ago.

  “Janus,” she breathed, nuzzling his chest. “I missed you.”

  He chuckled. “Really, Damera. What would your men say if they saw this?”

  “Forget them,” she said. “I’ll take what I can these days. Comforts are hard to come by.”

  His hand stroked her blonde hair. “Don’t say that. You’ve accomplished so much, my dear. Look at what you’ve managed to do. You bested the Duke of Ashes and led your forces to victory against the monsters a dozen times since. All the empire looks to you as its true leader. No one could have done better, or more.”

  Damera’s arms tightened around the comforting frame of the king. “But it’s not enough,” she said softly.

  For a moment there was only silence. Then his hand patted her head. “No, Damera. No, I fear it’s not. But such is the fate of the ruler. It’s never truly enough. There’s always something more over the horizon. Some new menace that we must face. And must overcome. That’s the nature of our job, I’m afraid.”

  Damera sighed. “I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

  But for that moment she relished the chance to let such worries bleed away. To be vulnerable in the arms of the man she had dared to love, though she knew her feelings could not be returned. For the king before her was married, and though he may care for her, she knew he loved his wife as well.

  So, she enjoyed that moment, knowing it wouldn’t last, and oh how it pained her when his hands moved from around her and grasped her shoulders, gently pushing her back.

  “Damera. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to say it,” she said, turning away, wrapping her arms around herself as if to compensate for his rejection. “I know you’re pulling away the soldiers you lent to me. You’re pulling back to Kirinovo.”

  She sensed him stiffen, then sigh. “How did you… No matter,” he said, shaking his head. “How doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, Damera. But my generals and men… they don’t understand why they’re helping their ancestral enemies.”

  “I’m not your enemy,” she said sharply, rounding on him, eyes flashing with anger.

  “You are not, Damera. But your father was. And his father. And his. And your brother.”

  “And what of the creatures lurking in the dark?” she asked harshly, beckoning at the walls of the tent. “What of the Duke and his monsters? Don’t your generals understand the threat they pose?”

  “To be honest, most think that it’s no less than your people deserve,” Janus said.

  “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “I do not,” Janus said with a sigh. “But my men, my allies, they don’t see it the same way. And I can’t keep them from home. There’s already been rumblings from Heimsvak. Not all are pleased with my rule, and the longer I’m away, the more they will grumble and plot.”

  “Do they think Cleaveguard will hold back the monsters if Istanov falls?” Damera asked.

  “I doubt they even really understand the menace this Duke poses. They see it as an Istanov problem.”

  “It’s all humanity’s problem!”

  “I know. I know…”

  “Then why?” Damera gasped. “Why won’t you stay?”

  “Damera, I cannot. I have my own kingdom. And my wife and daughter to think of.”

  Damera collapsed into a camp chair, closing her eyes and massaging her forehead. “Oh yes,” she muttered. “The queen and princess. How lovely. I imagine they don’t have to deal with the invasions of unholy horrors from nightmares. The politicking of an incompetent brother. No. They get a husband and father who loves them. Cares for them. A nation secure and prosperous.”

  “Damera…”

  “Don’t mind me,” Damera sighed, flopping back in the camp chair. “I know. I know. You wouldn’t be leaving if you had a choice. Politics,” she muttered bitterly. “Always politics…” She sighed. “You know,” she mused with a wry smile. “Sometimes, I dream of what might have been. If my father had not loathed you all so much. I heard that at one time, he considered offering me in a political marriage to you.”

  “He did?”

  “Surprised?” Damera said with a broken laugh. She rose from the chair and slowly moved towards him. “It makes one wonder,” she breathed, rolling her shoulders, her dressing gown slipping back, revealing more of her breasts. “Would you have loved me, my king? Even knowing I was of the enemy?”

  Janus didn’t move as she stopped before him. As her hands toyed with the buttons of his jacket. “Would I have loved you? Even though I was likely sent to sabotage your kingdom? I think I would,” Damera breathed, teasing open the buttons, baring his sculpted chest. “I think so,” she murmured, touching his firm flesh, feeling him suck in a tense breath. “I think I would have.”

  His hands again touched her shoulders. “Damera…”

  She took his hand, moved it from her shoulder. Her gown slipped down further, and she pressed his palm against the creamy breast it had revealed. “Would you have?”

  Janus grasped her breast. She arched with a soft moan as his palm massaged her ripe teat, pressed down on a firm, needy nipple. “Dammit Damera,” Janus growled, his other hand moving around her back, tugging her against his chest. “Why do you do this to me?”

  “Because I’m selfish,” she moaned softly, pressing herself against him, tugging down his jacket, her sleeping robe falling from her shoulders, baring all her firm, naked curves to the warm tent air. “Because I need some comfort, my king. If you must leave, so be it. But I want you. Take your armies, but leave me this night. Please…”

  “Damn your eyes,” Janus growled, but his voice was thick and husky with lust. He pulled her against his front, pressed a kiss to her willing lips. Damera moaned, eagerly accepting his kiss, grinding her groin against the bulge in his pants.

  “Janus,” she breathed, reaching between them, fumbling for the laces of his pants even as she yielded her kiss to the older man. His cock sprang free; hot, thick, filling her palm. “Oh, my king,” she moaned, stroking his throbbing shaft.

  Janus kissed her again. He massaged and teased her helpless, firm teat in his hungry palm. He pushed her back across the tent. They fell, her back hitting the tent’s bed. He was over her, his cloak draping them both. He panted, looking down at her pale form, large breasts aching for his touch, her cheeks flushed, her blonde hair framing her head in a golden halo. Her quim damp, slick for him, eager to again taste his cock.

  “Fuck me,” she breathed.

  “Damn temptress,” Janus gasped. But as he grasped her hip, lifte
d it and teased forward his shaft, he was gentle. Damera moaned as his cock pushed inside of her, filling her with the head of his manhood. She rocked beneath him as he began to thrust into her. As he kissed her neck, licked her collarbone, his bristly chin tickling her achingly sensitive flesh.

  “Oh my king!” she moaned, panted, fucking herself against his plunging cock. “Ah. Ah! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me my king! Ohhhhh gods yes! Yes! Fill me with your cock! Oh your majesty. I love you. I love you! I… I’m… mnnnn!”

  She keened as she tightened around him, cumming, cumming with all the force of her denial the past few weeks. The stress of it all pouring out of her in the hot tightening of her pussy around the plunging cock within her. She cried out, helpless with joy, letting the agonies she’d endured bleed away. Ever since the Battle of Skull Keep, she’d been holding it all inside her. Finally, relief. Blessed relief.

  “Gods,” Janus panted. “Gods above Damera. You’re so tight. So lovely.”

  “Mmm! Thank you. Ah. Janus. Janus p-please. Please cum in me.”

  Janus’s breath hitched. “Damera. Damera, I can’t…”

  “Please!” she moaned, moving against him. Knowing that despite his protests he kept thrusting into her. His pace growing ragged. His eyes hot and eager. “Janus. Cum in me. Please. I’ve never… never begged before. But I want it. Want your seed. Please. Please, c-cum in me! Give me your child!”

  “Damera. Oh gods Damera,” Janus moaned, thrusting faster. Faster. His body tight with his impending orgasm.

  “Janus!”

  “Nnnn!”

  She cried out in loss as he suddenly pulled his cock from her sloshing pussy. He groaned as he came, pumping his hot seed onto her bare, toned stomach. She moaned beneath him, the feeling of loss not enough to stem her second orgasm, spurting onto her blankets in a helpless, rolling peak that sparked through her like lightning.

  Janus panted from atop her. “I’m sorry, Damera. Truly.”