Chapter 8: The Imp's Conquest
The hut was dark, the air thick with the scent of crushed bracken, old smoke, and the clean scent of a lived-in home. The fire outside was a dull murmur of light through the gap in the linen flaps of the doorway, painting the interior in shifting shades of orange and deep shadow. Nivix stood just inside, the leather leash coiled in her hand. She watched Kaelen kneel by the wall, methodically arranging the bedding as she’d instructed. The cords of muscle in his back shifted under his skin, the pale latticework of scars a map of a life she’d once fought against.
The authority granted by the queen was a heady, terrifying wine. She had the legendary Kaelen Vane on a literal leash, bound by magic to obey her. He’d killed for her today without hesitation. Now, he waited for her next command.
The silence stretched, pregnant and hot. She could hear Flixi’s low chuckle somewhere outside, the soft, rhythmic scrape of Nelin cleaning armor. Normal sounds. This was not normal.
“Look at me, hero” she whispered, almost involuntarily.
He turned from his task still kneeling, his eyes finding hers in the gloom. There was no resentment there, no simmering defiance. Just a deep, waiting calm. It was the calm that intrigued her most. It meant he had accepted this, had compartmentalized it alongside killing his former comrades. He was the unbreakable, immovable rock, that her hand alone guided. The thought sparked a flicker of something mean and possessive in her gut.
She walked over, the dry bracken crunching under her boots. She stopped before him, so close her thighs almost brushed his shoulders. She could feel the heat coming off his body. With a deliberate slowness, she let the leash slither from her hand to pool on the ground between them.
“The queen gave you to me.” she stated, not asking. “One night. You understand what that means?”
“It means that, for now, you're my Mistress.” he said, the title 'Mistress' holding specific implications. He knew what she intended and he showed no fear or reservations on his chiseled face.
She nodded and smirked. “It means I don’t want your obedience. I already have that.” She reached out, her fingers surprisingly steady as they traced the cold, unyielding metal of his collar. Her other hand settled on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle beneath. “I want to see what happens when I force that famous resolve to bend. I want to see the hero come apart. Stand up.”
As he stood, her fingers drifted from the collar down his chest, over the planes of his stomach, until they found the lacings of his trousers. He didn’t move allowing her to do as she pleased. She undid the ties, her movements clumsy with urgency now. She pushed the rough fabric down over his hips, freeing him.
Even in the poor light, he was intimidatingly large, thick and heavy. The cockring kept him perpetually hard and she marveled at how his manhood bulged around the constrictive band. A visceral thrill shot through her, chased by a pang of apprehension. She pushed it down. This was her prize.
“Lie back.” she commanded, nodding to the bracken.
He complied, stretching out on the makeshift bed, a silhouette of powerful lines against the darker floor. Nivix stripped her own leathers off without care or ceremony, tossing them aside. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She straddled his hips, her smaller frame contrasting with his olympian physique. But dispite the size difference, her wide hips easily accommodated his narrow hips. She could feel the heat and the hard weight of him against her inner thighs. Reaching between her own legs, she guided him, the broad head of his cock nudging against her entrance. She was already so wet, a slick, eager heat that shamed and excited her in equal measure had been building for hours.
She didn’t ease down. She sank onto him in one fierce, claiming motion, her breath leaving her in a sharp, punched-out gasp.
“Nughh!” she hissed, her body stretching obscenely, a burning-full sensation that bordered on pain before it melted into something else entirely. He was huge, buried deep inside her, filling her completely. She braced her hands on his stomach, fingers digging into the scars there, and looked down at him. His eyes were clenched shut, his jaw tight, a tendon in his neck standing out in stark relief.
“Look at me.” she demanded again, her voice shaking. "I want to watch you break."
His eyes opened. In the dim light, they were dark pools, but she saw the storm in them now—a raw, animal struggle, the war between his physical response and whatever was left of his pride. Seeing him there, knowing she’d put him there, was more intoxicating than any wine.
She began to move, riding him with a desperate, rising rhythm. The hut filled with the wet, slapping sounds of their joining, the creak of the bracken, her ragged gasps and low, filthy curses. “Yeah… that’s it… You're at my mercy, hero. This what you traded your kingdom for? To be a little imp's play thing, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere?”
He didn’t answer, but a low groan ripped from his throat, his hips lifting involuntarily to meet her downward stroke. The sensation made her cry out. She leaned forward, her small breasts pressing against the hard wall of his chest, her mouth finding his ear. “You feel that? You’re mine tonight. My weapon. My fucking toy. I'm taking your seed, hero. I want to feel you lose it.”
It was a command wrapped in a dare. His control shattered. His hands, which had been lying stiffly at his sides, came up and gripped her hips, his fingers bruising-tight as he drove up into her, his rhythm turning frantic and deep. The sounds he made were raw, unchecked grunts of pleasure. She rode the wave of his urgency, the coiling tension in her own belly snapping suddenly. Her orgasm crashed over her, sharp and blinding, her internal muscles clamping around his cock in rhythmic pulses. She screamed into his chest, biting down on the scarred flesh to muffle the sound.
He followed moments later, his whole body rigid as a bowstring before he spilled into her with a choked, guttural sound, warmth flooding her core. His grip on her hips went slack.
Panting, slick with sweat, Nivix smiled darkly as the next phase of her plan came into motion. A dizzying triumph washed over her. She’d brake him to pieces, now. And he was completely helpless to stop her.
She felt him still hard within her squeezing her muscles aound his cock. The sensitivity was immediate for him; she felt him flinch as she shifted slightly. She was far from done with her toy. She lifted herself up, watching his grimace. His eyes were closed again, his expression one of pained exhaustion. He grunted, a brief, pained sound, as she began to move again on his oversensitive flesh.
She rolled her hips with deliberate slowness, the gradual grind of her body against his a deliberate taunt. His breath hitched, his fingers digging into the sheets until his knuckles turned white, the bite of his lip a silent rebellion against the way his body betrayed him. The cockring, cold and unyielding, mocked his frustration, a cruel reminder that he wasn’t the one in control here. *"You’re not done until I’m done with you."* she murmured, her voice a velvet command, each word a thread pulling him tighter into her web.
The weight of a thousand battles—each scar a silent testament to his endurance—had never quite prepared him for this. Every nerve, already humming from the aftershocks of climax, was now stretched taut, exposed to the relentless pressure of her touch. The pleasure was unbearable, almost painful in its intensity. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream, a stifled groan escaped, unbidden.
It was then that she noticed the shift in the light from the doorway. A shadow, subtle and listening. She’d heard no footsteps, but the sound of Flixi and Nelin still chatting in the distance gave it away. That left only Sprix. The bookworm was peeking. A fresh, wicked heat blossomed in Nivix’s chest. He was vulnerable and hers and now they had an audience. Perfect.
She didn’t stop her movements, nor did she acknowledge the spy. Instead, she raised her voice just slightly, pitching it to carry to the nervous figure lurking outside.
“This... stubborn dog wont stop whining.” Nivix said, her tone conversational, even as she ground down on him, making him suck in a sharp breath. “But his mouth could be put to better use. Don’t you think, Sprix?”
There was a caught, silent moment from the doorway. Then, a faint rustle of robes. Sprix stepped haltingly into the hut, her purple face darkened with a blush, her orange eyes wide and fixed on the entangled forms. Her orb hovered at her shoulder, casting a soft, intimate glow that illuminated everything—the sheen of sweat, the joining of their bodies, the stark want and submission on Kaelen’s face. She had always liked Nivix and had fantasized about her on a few occasions. And she had to admit, the hero was an extremely handsome man. This whole scenario was like something from her romance novels.
“I… I didn’t mean to…” Sprix stammered.
“Yes you did.” Nivix corrected, her voice gentle but firm. She reached out a hand. “It’s fine. Come here. He’s not using that mouth for anything but pathetic whimpers.”
Sprix floated forward, drawn by a curiosity that clearly warred with every proper instinct she possessed. She knelt on the bracken beside Kaelen’s head. Nivix leaned back, giving her a better view, still impaled on Kaelen’s cock, still moving in a lazy, possessive rhythm.
“Put that mouth to work, hero.” Nivix said, tapping his cheek. “Make her feel good. That’s an order.”
Kaelen’s eyes, clouded with a mix of exhaustion and submission, shifted to Sprix. Nivix continued fucking his torturously sensitive cock. He turned his head groaning in overwhelming pleasure. Sprix, her hands trembling, gathered the folds of her robes. She was already wet, her scent joining the others in the close air. With a small, helpless sound, she lowered herself onto his face.
Nivix watched, her own movements slowing to a near-stillness, mesmerized by the sight. The fierce, fallen warrior, his mouth forced to service the timid librarian, and her in control of it all. Sprix’s back arched almost immediately, a sharp, surprised gasp escaping her as Kaelen obeyed the command with a grim, thorough focus. His hands came up to grip Sprix’s thighs, holding her in place. The wet, eager sounds from between her legs mingled with Nivix’s own quiet pants.
Nivix felt the renewed twitch of his cock inside her, a visceral response he couldn’t control. She began to ride him again in earnest, finding a new, aching peak building fast. Sprix came first, a muffled, shuddering cry against the hut’s walls, her body trembling violently. A splash of her running down his chin, onto his chest. The convulsions against his face finally tipped Kaelen over a second time; Nivix felt the hot, pulse deep within her as his body shook beneath hers, a broken groan vibrating against Sprix’s skin.
This time, the exhaustion was total. Sprix slid off, curling onto her side beside them, breathing heavily. Nivix finally lifted herself off, a slick, spent ache between her legs. She looked at the two of them: the warrior, hollowed out and used; the mage, trembling with aftershocks. Her prize, and an unexpected dividend.
She lay down, draping herself across Kaelen’s chest, one leg thrown over his hips. She tugged Sprix closer, until the mage’s back was against Kaelen’s side, her head nestled near his shoulder. They were a tangle of limbs and cooling sweat in the orb’s gentle light.
“The great and powerful Kaelen, whimpered like a pup inside me.” Nivix whispered into the quiet, her voice heavy with satiation. “Told you I'd break that resolve, Hero.”
No one answered. Outside, the forest was silent. The only sounds were their slowing breaths and the distant, watchful crackle of the fire. The weight of the day—the violence, the marching, the claiming—pressed down on them all, dragging them under. Kaelen’s arm, heavy and inert, eventually settled around Nivix’s back, a passive, unconscious embrace. Sprix’s breathing evened out into sleep.
Nivix stared into the darkness, the triumph still warm in her veins, but edged now with something more complicated. She had taken everything she’d wanted. She had proven her power.
That knowledge was a warm, drowsy blanket as consciousness slipped away. The deep, even breathing of the two bodies beside her became the rhythm of the world. Sleep took Nivix completely, her small hand going slack on Kaelen’s chest.
A few hours later, the silence had a different quality. The fire outside sighed as a log collapsed into embers. A chill seeped through the stone walls. Kaelen opened his eyes to the darkness, the orb’s light now dimmed to a faint amber pulse. The weight on his chest and side was a tangled, warm reality. The tiny woman had indeed broken his resolve. He smiled at her as she shifted in her sleep.
Sprix stirred, a sharp intake of breath as she returned to herself, to the memory of where she was and what she’d done.
She shifted away from him as if burned, her robes whispering in the dark. Kaelen carefully lifted Nivix’s arm and slid out from under her, the cold air biting his exposed skin. He found his trousers and pulled them on, movements stiff. His body ached with a deep, specific exhaustion. Sprix stood by the doorway, hugging herself, watching the dying fire. She wouldn’t look at him.
“I think it's your watch.” Kaelen said. Nivix had given no order for the watches, but the habits of a soldier, the ingrained protocols of survival, surfaced through the fog. Someone had to stand guard now that the married couple had retired.
Sprix nodded, a quick, jerky motion. “Yes. I’ll… I can take it.”
“We’ll both take it.” he said. He found his tunic and pulled it over his head, the fabric scraping against the fresh bites and scratches on his skin. The unbreakable collar was a cold, permanent pressure against his clavicle. “Not sure I can sleep anymore, anyway.” he dressed himself quickly.
They stepped out into the night, leaving Nivix to her deep, sated sleep. The difference in the air was violent. It stripped the sweat from their skin and sharpened every sense.
Sprix hugged her orb to her chest, its light barely illuminating the ground at her feet. Kaelen walked to the perimeter, his eyes already scanning the ink-black seams between rocks. He heard her soft footsteps follow, maintaining a careful distance.
“You don’t have to stand with me.” he said, not turning.
“I know.” Her voice was small. A minute passed, filled by the whisper of a dry wind. “It was wrong. What we did. What I did.”
Kaelen watched the terrain. A shape moved in the distance—likely just a scavenger drawn by the battle’s leavings. “Wrong, how? She want it.”
“That’s not an excuse. For me.” Sprix’s words came in a rush now, a whispered confession to the night. “I watched. I came in. I... used you. I’ve read about… about degradation. It didn't feel wrong but I-I know it wasn't right.” she blushed furiously, remembering the feelings and sensations of the event.
“It's what she wanted.” His response was flat, a stone dropped into a well. He finally glanced at her. "It didn't hurt me to give you pleasure and if It made Nivix happy, I have no complaints. As far as I'm concerned, she deserves her prize. She fought well and likely saved a lot of lives." He thought for a moment then realization donned on him. "Was... that your first time?"
Sprix flinched as if struck. The orb’s light wavered. "No!" she said too quickly, then corrected with a brittle honesty. "Yes. I mean, not entirely. But with... with anyone else? Yes." She let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Thirty-eight years in libraries. You'd think I'd have gotten around to it." She chuckled nervously.
Kaelen said nothing. He watched the eastern ridge, where the first grey smear of false dawn might eventually appear.
"I've read everything." she continued, the words tumbling out. "Poetry. Clinical texts. Filthy novels soldiers trade. I know the mechanics. The theory." Her grip on the orb turned her knuckles pale. "Theory doesn't prepare you for the weight. The smell. The... the animal noise of it."
"Now you know." Kaelen said. His voice was flat, factual.
"Is that all?" Sprix turned to him, her orange eyes luminous with unshed tears and urgent need. "You just... know, and you move on? After what we just did to you?"
He finally looked at her fully. In the weak light, his face was a landscape of fatigue and ancient scars. "My feelings are irrelevant. But... With or without this collar, my queen's desire was to give Nivix a night of passion. That means it is my sworn duty to see it through. That is what I agreed to when I accepted her collar. If Lilith wants this and Nivix wants this... You clearly wanted it, then I want it too."
He placed a shackled hand on her delicate shoulder. It was a gesture of affection, but also of grounding weight. Sprix flinched, then stilled, her breath catching. The cold metal of his wrist restraint pressed through her robe. His words circled in her head. Her own body felt like a chaotic, treasonous thing, humming with a restless energy she’d only ever quieted with her own fingers in dark library corners. This was different. This was a shared heat, a witnessed frenzy. It left a residue.
“Do you want her?” Sprix asked, the scholar in her needing the data point.
Kaelen’s profile was stone. “My wants are not a factor. But she is a very pretty woman.” He turned his head, and his eyes in the gloom held a terrible clarity. “Do you want her?”
Sprix’s mouth went dry. She saw Nivix’s fierce grin. She remembered the shocking, empty ache when she’d climbed off his face, the sudden loss of that intense, focused attention. She had shared that experience with both of them.
“Yes” she whispered to the dirt. The confession hung there. Sprix’s want, named. It seemed to vibrate in the air between them. The scholarly detachment she’d clung to evaporated. This wasn’t theory. This was the damp chill on her skin, the lingering soreness between her legs, the raw, magnetic pull toward the heat of the hut—and toward the silent, scarred man beside her.
Without thinking, driven by a impulse she didn't recognize, she reached out. Her fingers, small and stained with ink and soot, brushed against the back of his shackled hand. He didn’t pull away. He just watched her touch, as if observing a curious insect.
“What does it feel like?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “The collar. Not the magic. The… the giving over.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. “It’s a relief.” he said, the words shocking in their simplicity. “The war inside stops. There is only the next command. The next action. The morality is someone else’s headache.” He flexed his hand under hers. “And then, in moments like this, when there is no command… it’s very quiet.”
Sprix traced a scar that ran over his knuckles. Her heart was pounding again, but differently. Not fear. Her desire twisted, mingling with a need so acute it stole her breath.
“Kaelen...” she said. It was the first time she’d used his name.
He looked at her.
“Do you think... I'm pretty?” she blushed forcing herself to meet his eyes.
"Positively adorable, Sprix." He smiled warmly.
“I want you to kiss me... I-if you'd like to, that is.”
It was not a command. It couldn’t be. It was a request, flung into the silent space of his autonomy. A choice offered, not taken. His eyes searched her face. There he way Sprix trembling and hopeful and ruined with want.
He moved slowly. There was no sudden pull, no dramatic claiming. He leaned down, and his lips met hers. They were chapped, warm. He tasted of salt and her. It was a closed-mouth press, achingly tentative, a question echoed back at her. A sob caught in Sprix’s throat. She surged against him, her hands coming up to frame his jaw, her mouth opening under his.
The kiss deepened, turned hungry. This was different. This had no audience, no mistress granting permission. This was a secret in the predawn dark. His hands, those instruments of death and service, came up and cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. The metal of his shackles was cold against her skin.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard. Sprix’s mind was white static. “Inside me, please!” she panted, tugging his tunic. “Now. Before she wakes. Before it becomes her order.”
They stumbled back into the hut, a tangle of urgent, quiet limbs. Nivix slept on, a deep, sprawled sleep of the victor. They knelt on the bracken away from her, their faces inches apart in the gloom. Sprix fumbled with the laces of his trousers, her earlier clumsiness replaced by a single-minded need.
He helped her, freeing himself. She pushed her robes up around her waist, not bothering to remove them. The cool air hit her wet skin, making her gasp. “Just… just fuck me.” she whispered, the crude word feeling true on her tongue. “However you want. Before it’s for her.”
It was the closest she could get to giving him back a fragment of choice. He understood. A shudder went through him. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging in, and pulled her onto him as he lay back. She guided him inside, sinking down with a low, choked moan. The fullness was even more intense now, a claiming that felt collaborative.
He set the rhythm, a deep, rolling thrust of his hips that lit every nerve in her body. This was not the frantic ride of Nivix, nor the passive service of before. This was purposeful, almost solemn. Each slow, grinding drive was an answer to a question she hadn’t known how to ask. She braced her hands on his chest, her head falling back, biting her lip to keep silent.
“Look at me.” he rasped, echoing Nivix’s command but with a completely different texture—a plea, not a demand.
Sprix forced her eyes open, meeting his gaze. In the near-dark, the storm in them was quiet, a deep, relentless tide. He was watching her feel it, watching her come apart, and in his eyes she saw a reflection of her own awe. This was for them. A stolen, silent transaction.
Her climax built not in a sharp peak, but as a slow, devastating wave, spreading from her core out to her fingertips. She muffled her cry against his tunic, her body clamping around him in rhythmic, pulsing contractions that seemed to go on forever. He followed swiftly, his own release a hot flood and a strangled groan into her hair, his hips stuttering up against her.
They lay locked together, breathing in ragged unison. The sound seemed monstrously loud in the hut. They both froze, listening. Nivix snorted in her sleep, rolled over, and was still.
Slowly, carefully, Sprix peeled herself off him. The separation was acutely physical, a loss of anchor. She rearranged her robes with trembling hands. He lay still, an arm thrown over his eyes. The first true grey light of dawn began to bleed through the doorway, etching the hut in sterile detail.
The reality of it crashed down. The smell of sex. The used bracken. The sleeping mistress. The coming day.
Kaelen sat up, fastening his trousers.
“You should go back to your post.” he said, his voice empty again. “The dawn watch is almost over.”
Sprix stood, her legs unsteady. She was different. The theory was fact. She had a secret now. She had given him her first time and it was his choice to take it. She moved to the doorway, pausing on the threshold.
Outside, the jagged plain of the Rocky Ford began to emerge from the shadows, a harsh landscape of unyielding stone. Somewhere, far to the east, the Queen’s army was mobilizing. Somewhere, their enemies were digging graves or sharpening swords.
The night was over. The war would drag on. But soon, there would be merciful peace. In the light of the dawn, she could truly believe it.