The royal suite was warm from the roaring fire from the hearth within the bedroom chambers while the rain slowly began to fall outside; she felt content and safe, the combined scents bringing memories of her childhood. She stared out the window looking across the sea far below, the waves crashing against the rocks below. She found herself comparing her life now to the life she had imagined as a child that she would have as an adult. She had been raised very simply in her noble family’s home, learning all the things ladies learn and doing the things that ladies do. She had had no desire to learn the ways of the world around her or even beyond that world she lived in.
Her father had lived long enough to see his only daughter married to the young High King, but dead not long after that of old age, her mother not long after him. Her brothers, both were Imperial soldiers, one posted in Cyrodiil, the other missing in action in this war with Ulfric Stormcloak, the same man who killed her husband, the same man who vied for her throne as ruler of Skyrim. And she knew absolutely nothing about ruling a city much less ruling an entire land.
The voice of her steward broke through her thoughts startling her. She turned around, pushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear as she nervously looked at the man; giving a slight laugh, she said, “Oh, Falk. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m sorry, milady. I was hoping to speak to you for a moment privately.”
“Ah, of course, yes, by all means.”
“The people ask how you are doing, if you are still in mourning for High King Torygg.”
“Is there a set amount of time for one to be in mourning?” she asked somberly.
A knowing smile touched his lips. “In reality,” he said softly, “no. Everyone mourns in their own way, in their own time. Some mourn briefly while others never stop.” He took a few steps toward the young, widowed jarl before continuing, “But, unfortunately, in the eyes of the Royal Court, they wish for a…respectable amount of time to mourn but not a lengthy one, especially under these circumstances.”
“These circumstances? What circumstances would those be?”
The steward looked at her squarely in the eyes. “The fact that High King Torygg died childless.”
“But I’m the High Queen…or I should be rightfully.”
The man sighed. “Many do not look at you as a rightful ruler…merely the woman Torygg was married to who gave him no children.”
“So, my claim to the throne is null and void because I have no child?”
“No, they just want to secure the line of succession. They fear an attempt on your life, milady, leaving no heir to the throne, leaving the throne open to a Stormcloak overthrow before the Moot.”
“So, what, they want me to remarry and get pregnant?”
He nodded. “Basically, yes.”
“What?! Am I n ow nothing more than a cow, good only for breeding at the nobles command?”
“Who would I marry anyhow?”
“There’s plenty of options amongst nobles across the land, though during this time perhaps a union between you and General Tullius would be the most beneficial to you and the city, not to mention all of Skyrim.”
“Tullius?” she retorted. “Surely you’re joking, Falk.”
“He might be older than you’d like, but he’s a seasoned general with a good head on his shoulders. He’s well respected by the nobles and citizens alike.”
“I realize that but…, I just think he’d pay as much attention to me as Torygg did.”
Falk looked at her, bemused. “I’m sorry, milady. I don’t follow you.”
She chuckled. “Do you know why Torygg died childless?” She motioned to the bed. “This was never the marriage bed.”
“Are you saying that the marriage was never consummated?”
A tear escaped her eyelid as she nodded. “I have never felt the touch of a man in that way.” She looked away as she turned back toward her window.
Falk walked over to her, laying a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “I apologize, milady. If I may be so bold…, I do not see why he would not bed a beautiful woman such as yourself….”
She glanced up at her steward and gave a small smile. “It’s alright, Falk. I know that it had nothing to do with my beauty or my personality or anything of that nature. It was because I wasn’t equipped with what he truly desired more.”
“He favored men?”
She nodded. “Apparently, he was quite fond of playing the submissive role.”
“Oh,” Falk responded. “That must have been devastating for you to discover.”
Nodding, she replied, “It was. I had dreamed of nothing more than having his babies from the time the marriage was arranged…but no one knew that he wanted no such thing.” She coughed back a sob as she said, “I begged him, I could live with him loving a man and being with a man, if only he’d give me a babe.”
“What was his response?” Falk asked softly.
“That he could not possibly imagine ever putting his…his…penis…into a woman. Ever.”
He pulled her into an embrace as he responded, “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
She started to cry more and turned into the steward’s embrace. He held her, all the while stroking her back, soothing her, telling her how sorry he was. Soon the tears stopped, and the jarl stepped back, wiping her eyes of signs of their existence. “I’m sorry, Falk. I didn’t mean to lose control and break down in front of you,” she said as she looked at him.
“No, milady, it is I that should be apologizing for causing you this anguish.” He tentatively reached over and cupped her face, hesitated for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her.
“Any leads on suspects, Legate?”
General Tullius paced the war room in Castle Dour, his voice level despite the increasing strain he had been under recently. He thought this was going to be an easy in and out mission, quell this rebellion and return to Cyrodiil in a few months time. Instead, he found himself still here in this land without much of the conveniences of home. And now with the murder of the Emperor’s cousin right her in the city that the Legion was headquartered at, right beneath his nose, was beyond an embarrassment to him. It called his entire leadership here into question. This could ruin him forever.
“No, sir,” she answered. “What we do know, though, is that multiple people state that at least one of those involved was wearing the armor of the Dark Brotherhood.”
“The assassin’s guild?” Tullius asked.
“Well, at least the likelihood of it being related to the war is low,” he stated sardonically.
He shook his head. “Nothing, Legate, nothing. What’s the word around town?”
“the usual,” she answered. “Though,” she added, a hint of gossip to her voice, “the whispers around the palace and amongst the nobles is that the people are anxious for Elisif to remarry since Torygg died without neither a child nor impregnating Elisif before his death.”
“The only reason the people want a brat from that woman is in hopes it’ll secure the throne from Stormcloak hands.”
“Sir?” Rikke was surprised at the general’s crass attitude.
“Oh, come on now, Rikke,” he said exasperatedly. “You can’t tell me you don’t think she’s as dumb as a box of rocks.” At her silence, he nodded, saying, “Now imagine any child she births.” He laughed bitterly. “The only thing these people can do is hope that whoever she marries has stronger blood than whatever it is that flows through her veins.”
“Yes, there is that and I agree with you,” she responded.
The Imperial looked at her. “From the look on your face and the sound in your voice, I believe you have someone in mind?”
“Actually, sir, yes, I do,” she answered. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “If you were to marry Elisif, the Emperor would be more inclined to keep you here during the course of the war. If you sire a child with her, it also insures your name is remembered. There are plenty more pros to such a marriage if you give thought to it than there are to remaining single and face the chance of being sent back to Cyrodiil without bringing this rebellion to an end.”
He looked over a her, an eyebrow raised. “You make valid points. I might give that some thought. I don’t know how I feel about having a child though, it’s not something I ever really gave a whole lot of thought to.”
“Well, don’t think too long on it; there’s plenty of other possible suitors for a very beautiful woman.”
Tullius gave a laugh. “Good point.” Yawning, he glanced at the door. Rikke, taking the hint, headed toward the door, excusing herself, saying it was late and she had an early morning. The man saw her out, then secured the door and locking it. Stripping his armor off, he thought about the idea of marrying the young jarl. He had always considered himself to be a confirmed bachelor, never a woman being seen on his arm. Now he found the thought of marriage very serious upon his mind, and not just marriage but siring a child, a possible heir to the throne of Skyrim. He had to admit that the idea was more and more appealing the more he gave it thought. Perhaps tomorrow he would pay a visit to the Blue Palace and call upon the widowed jarl.
On the other side of the city, a barwench sang to a man giving him a private show as he imbibed on spiced wine, enjoying the show. Every so often he’d reach over and pull the wench to him and fondle her breasts and butt cheeks, grabbing them forcefully as he leered at her, his intentions clear in his eyes. He dropped a purse heavy with coin before her, the gold spilling out onto the floor, his eyes holding hers. “It’s all yours…but only if I get my way with you, no questions asked.”
Blue eyes flickered down upon the floor, widening as they counted the coins. Looking at the man through her eyelashes, she licked her lips and nodded her head. “Whatever you want, honey,” she purred.
As he began to undress, watching the wench undress before him, he told the woman what he wanted to do to her, how hard he was going to do it to her. As he spoke, his cock hardened to its full length and girth; he began to tug upon it. Telling her to get on her hands and knees, he positioned himself behind her, fingering both of her holes before thrusting himself into her, eliciting a muffled gasp as she felt herself spread more than she ever had been before.
He went on for a few minutes, keeping his accelerated pace as he felt her ass slapping against his groin; the sound of her grunting with each thrust excited him and he began to fight the need to release. He pulled out, inserted his fingers in her and began to fingerfuck her instead. Calling her crude names, he brought her to climax, her orgasm flooding the floor beneath her.
Panting like a bitch in heat, she begged him to fuck her more. He ordered her to give him oral attention before he gave her what she wanted again. She eagerly licked upon his thick member, slowly, tantalizingly teasing him until she took the head of his dick in her mouth and began the ministrations the man wanted. Soon, he was moaning loudly a she took more and more of him in her mouth, even as it grew. He ran his hands through her hair, losing himself in the ecstasy this wench was creating. Gripping her head firmly with his hands, he began thrusting himself against her mouth. He ignored the protests she tried making as his cock began to choke her.
A loud knocking on the door broke through the sex induced haze followed by a man bellowing, “Commander Maro! I have urgent news for you!”
Maro continued thrusting. “Can’t” grunt “it” grunt “wait?” Grunt.
“Sir, it’s about your son.”
Maro grumbled as he continued thrusting before reaching orgasm. Pulling out and ignoring the gasping sounds the wench made, he walked to the door and threw it open. “What about my son?”
The officer tried to look past the form of his naked command officer, but upon seeing the woman sitting naked on the floor, he forced himself to look at Maro without breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s been found murdered in Windhelm. It appears he was in a whorehouse in the area known as the Grey Quarter; Dunmer refugees have made that their home.”
Maro heard none of it though. Upon hearing that his son was dead, he found himself falling into a pit of anger and swearing not just for justice but for revenge.