Chapter 348: Returning To Home

The day after the Conclave’s final, grim pronouncement, the great exodus began. The atmosphere of the valley was no longer one of political maneuvering and drunken parties; it was one of fear, of hasty departures and anxious glances at the sky.

Alaric’s caravan was massive. It dwarfed the one he had arrived with. It was a long, black snake of reinforced war-carriages, disciplined Jorailian soldiers, and now, a second, gaudier tail of Strathmore banners, guards, and wagons. It was a victory procession.

He had his core delegation, of course. Queen Ondine, Priscilla, and Zylle, riding in their own opulent, heavily-warded carriage, a fortress on wheels.

He had Lin Ruoli. She was officially his new “trade partner,” the head of a new “embassy” to the Jorailian Kingdom, tasked with solidifying their new deal. Unofficially, she was his prisoner. She was in her own carriage, a fucking luxurious one, all silk pillows and lacquered wood. It was also completely windowless and magically sealed, with a dozen of Zylle’s top, black-clad agents riding flanking it. She was a bird in a gilded cage, and she knew it.

And then, there was the real prize. The entire Strathmore royal delegation.

The final negotiations for this “visit” had happened in private, the morning after the signing. King Reginald, still puffed up with his imaginary “vigor,” had come to Alaric’s pavilion to “discuss details.”

“My Lord Alaric!” he’d boomed, slapping Alaric on the back. Wrong move.

Alaric had just smiled at him, a cold, dead smile that froze Reginald’s hand in mid-air. “Your Majesty,” Alaric had said, his voice smooth as glass. “Queen Kate had a wonderful suggestion.”

Kate, who was standing just behind her husband, had stepped forward. She was radiant. And terrified. Alaric was standing just behind her, so close she could feel his body heat. His hands were hidden under the back of her heavy robe.

“My love,” she’d said, her voice a little shaky, “if we are to be true allies… with this… this demon war coming… we must inspect their defenses! We must see their barriers! Their weapons! How can we fight together if we don’t trust their strength?”

Reginald had blinked. “An inspection? Now? But my dear, the journey… the court… we must get home!”

“Home to what, Reginald?” she’d snapped, her fear making her sharp. “To our paper-thin walls? Our useless old catapults? We need to see real power!”

Alaric had stepped up then, sliding his hands from under Kate’s robe. No one saw that his hands had been gripping her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, reminding her who was in charge.

“Her Majesty speaks with great wisdom, Your Majesty,” Alaric said, his voice dripping with fake, generous sincerity. “A capital idea. You must come to my capital. You must see our foundries. Our artifact labs. Our barrier generators. How can you trust our protection if you don’t see our strength?”

“Well… I… I suppose…” Reginald stammered.

“You must bring your experts!” Alaric had insisted, “Your top Master of the Guard! Your Master Mason! How else can they learn?”

“And… and my family,” Reginald had added, puffing up again, feeling so kingly and decisive. “They… they must be protected, too! The journey is dangerous! I’ll bring everyone! My Queen, my daughter, my… uh… my household!”

“An excellent display of trust, Your Majesty!” Alaric had boomed, slapping him on the back (hard enough to make the old man stumble). “It’s settled, then!”

So, the fucking moron had packed up his entire harem and half his court to go on a “weapons inspection tour.”

Now, that very same moron was riding in a grand, gilded carriage at the front of the line, all smiles, waving to the other, lesser nobles as they passed, so proud to be “visiting” his powerful new ally.

Queen Kate was in the carriage with him, playing the doting wife. She was practically vibrating with a dark, nervous excitement. She knew she was heading right back to her real master’s bed.

Reginald, still glowing from his “success,” tried to take her hand. “A new era, my love…”

Kate pulled her hand away immediately, fanning herself. “It’s so warm in here, Reginald. Please, don’t touch me.”

He tried to pat her knee. The moment his fingers brushed the fabric of her dress, the slave seal underneath, the invisible tattoo Alaric had placed on her, flashed.

ZAP!

“Ouch!” Reginald yelled, yanking his hand back as a sharp, painful jolt, like a bee sting made of lightning, snapped at his fingers. “Gods! The… the dry air! So much static!”

Kate just smiled behind her fan. ’Dry air, my love? No. That’s the leash.’

In another carriage, just behind them, Princess Eleanor was pouty and horny. She slouched against the silk cushions, still aching from Alaric’s cold, cruel rejection. He hadn’t visited her. He’d denied her. And it was driving her insane. But… she was thrilled to be closer to him. She clutched a small, scented note he’d had sent to her that morning. It just said: “Behave. Wait. You will be rewarded.” She didn’t know when, or how. And the anticipation was killing her.

And in a third, plain, heavily-guarded carriage… the five concubines.

Lila, Nyla, Anya, Juliana, and Elaine. They were Alaric’s tagged property. His new harem, delivered by their own clueless, cuckold of a king.

Alaric himself rode in his own massive, black war carriage at the head of the entire combined caravan. He was a conqueror leading his spoils home. He smirked as he looked out the window at Reginald’s pompous, gilded carriage just behind him.

’He’s personally delivering his wife, his daughter, and all his sluts right to my palace,’ he thought, his grin vicious.

’It’s like take-out. But for pussy. And it’s free.’

His harem palace back in Jorailia was ready. He’d already sent a magic message ahead to his castellans. ’Prepare the… Royal Guest Wing. For the entire Strathmore court. High security. No one in, no one out… without my personal permission. And stock the cellars. The King… likes his juice.’

Inside the royal carriage, Kate fanned herself aggressively. “Oh, Reginald, this is so exciting, isn’t it? A new kingdom! New sights! I’m all a-flutter!”

“Indeed, my dear! Indeed!” he beamed, completely missing the feverish, hungry look in her eyes. “A new beginning for us all!”

Kate’s real thoughts were far from diplomatic. ’I can’t wait to get out of this bouncing, stinking, gilded carriage. I can’t stand the smell of this old fool next to me. I need to be back in Alaric’s bed. I need that massive, brutal dick again. I need him to slap me. I need him to punish me for being stuck with this fool for so long… I need my real King…’

In the third carriage, the concubine carriage, the mood was… not so cheerful.

Elaine was catatonic. She was a ghost. She just stared out the tiny, barred window, her face pale and hollow. She had to do this. This was her penance. This was her sacrifice. ’For Eleanor,’ she repeated, her mind a broken, looping mantra. ’For Eleanor. For Eleanor. For Eleanor.’

Anya and Juliana, on the other hand, were buzzing with a secret, nervous energy. They knew what was happening. They knew who their real “King” was now. That vitality tonic… it wasn’t a tonic. It was a monster. A god.

“Do you… do you think he’ll… call for us?” Anya whispered to Juliana, her face flushed with a shameful excitement. “At his palace?”

“He has to,” Juliana whispered back, her huge tits jiggling with the carriage’s movement. “His stamina… it was… unbelievable. I’ve never… never…”

“I know,” Anya breathed, her dancer’s body aching and restless. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Lila and Nyla, the twins, were just terrified. They were clutching each other in the corner, weeping silently, their bodies still sore from their brutal, hours-long deflowering. They were going to that monster’s home. And this time… there was no escape.

All of them—Kate in her carriage, Eleanor in hers, and the five concubines in theirs—could feel the magic slave seal just above their pink pussies.

It was a constant, faint itch. A tiny, arcane burn. A leash only they could feel.

A permanent reminder of exactly who they belonged to now.

The first night on the road, the caravan made camp. It was a massive undertaking. A tent city sprang up. Alaric had his pavilion, and Reginald had his… right next door.

Reginald, full of good food and self-importance, bid his Queen goodnight. “I’ll… uh… see you in the morning, my dear!” he beamed, clearly expecting an invitation.

“Goodnight, Reginald,” Kate said, her voice cold. She turned and walked into her own private tent (which Alaric had insisted she have).

Reginald stood there, confused. ’She… she must still be sore,’ he decided, puffing up with pride again. ’Yes! My vigor! I must be careful not to injure her!’

Alaric waited until midnight.

He slipped out of his own tent, invisible as a shadow. The entire camp was asleep. His Sleep wards were perfect.

He bypassed the token guards around the concubine carriage. (They were locked in at night, “for their safety.”)

He didn’t bother with the door. He just phased right through the wooden wall of the carriage, materializing in the dark, cramped space inside.

Five women gasped as one.

“Shh,” Alaric whispered, his voice filling the small space. He snapped his fingers. A bubble of silence enveloped the carriage.

“Your King… is tired,” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “He worked so hard today… being important. He asked me… as a good and loyal ally… to… see to your needs… in his place.”

Elaine flinches as if he’d hit her. Anya and Juliana gasped with excitement. The twins sobbed in terror.

“No… please… no…” Lila whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he said. He ripped their simple travel robes off in the darkness. He was met with a tangle of naked, female flesh.

He started with the twins, pulling them onto the small carriage bed. He fucked both of them at once, his massive dick in one of them, his magically enhanced fingers in the other.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he taunted them, as they bit their lips to keep from screaming. “Good.”

He swapped back and forth, fucking one while kissing the other.

He made Anya and Juliana watch in the cramped darkness. Then he pulled them down onto the floor.

He fucked all four of them in the cramped, dark carriage. It was a messy, desperate, silent orgy. Doggy style over the storage chests. Spreading them on the cold floor.

He saved Elaine for last. He pushed her face-down onto the empty bed, pinning her with his weight.

He fucked her slowly, possessively, whispering threats about Eleanor in her ear the entire time.

“You missed me, didn’t you, Mom? I know you did. Scream. Oh, wait. You can’t. And no one can hear you. Not even me.”

He left them all in a wrecked, sated, sobbing pile, covered in his seed. He phased back out just before dawn.

The second night on the road, they made a full camp.

Alaric had his own massive, black silk pavilion set up. Reginald had his gaudy, gold one right next door.

At sunset, Queen Kate received a formal, written summons. “The Lord Duke requests your Majesty’s presence for a… private strategy dinner. Immediately.”

Reginald beamed. “Go, my dear! Go! Strategize! This is wonderful! I trust you completely! Handle the… finer points!”

Kate curtsied, her face a mask of duty. “Of course, my King.”

She practically ran to Alaric’s tent.

The moment she was inside, he tore her royal traveling dress off and fucked her against the main tent pole, hard and fast, like an animal. “You waited long enough?” he growled. “Yes! Yes!” she screamed.

When he was done, he threw a bundle of fabric at her. “Put this on. You’re serving dinner tonight.”

It was a scandalous French maid’s uniform. Micro-mini skirt, barely covering her ass. White, lacy apron. Low-cut top, her massive tits spilling out.

“But… dinner?” she asked.

“My officers are coming,” he grinned.

A few minutes later, he did the same for the other five concubines. Summoned them, one by one, for a “royal security meeting.”

He tore their clothes off. He fucked each of them, quick and brutal, as a “greeting.”

Then he gave them their costumes.

Anya and Juliana, the dancers, were put in nothing but gossamer-thin veils and chains of tinkling, silver bells. They were naked underneath.

The twins, Lila and Nyla, were made cup-bearers. They were put in see-through, white silk shifts that clung to their plump, wet bodies.

Elaine… he made her wear a simple, rough-spun slave’s tunic. No underwear. The coarse fabric was an itchy torment against her sensitized skin.

He then hosted a “formal dinner” for his own officers. Ondine, Priscilla, and Zylle, all dressed in their finest, most regal gowns.

And Kate and the five concubines were the entertainment.

They had to serve them. They had to pour their wine, their hands shaking. They had to dance for them.

Alaric fondled them openly as they passed. He slapped Kate’s ass as she bent over to pour his wine. WHAP. She yelped and spilled a drop. Ondine just smiled.

He reached out and pinched Anya’s nipple as she danced, making her cry out.

And they had to smile. They had to take it. They were his slaves, forced to serve his other women.

Reginald was in his own tent, less than fifty feet away, completely oblivious. He was proudly writing in his journal about his successful alliance and his powerful new friend.