The Tournament (12 page)

"Not yet," Ruby pleaded. "I can feel it, I'm so close."

"Fuck," said the Dean, pumping her faster. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Wait," Ruby begged. "Don't come. I want to come with you. Please."

"Fuck," snarled the Dean. He grabbed her hips with both hands, abandoning her clit, his movements jerky. "I'm going to fucking come. I'm coming. Fuck."
 

Ruby touched herself. She was so ready it only took a flick to push herself over the edge. And then she was gripping the Dean tight as he shuddered into her, her orgasm prolonging his.

"Holy fuck," gasped the dean, pulling out and sagging against the wall. "Holy fuck."

"Let me help you," said Ruby, wrapping her arm around his waist. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?"
 

The doctor remained cool and formal the next day when he examined her. "Hardly any redness at all," he said, spreading her folds with his gloved fingers. He worked a bit of lube up her ass. "Nice and tight. No inflammation." He peeled off his gloves and stood, then unhooked her from the harness. "I'll let the Steward know."
 

"Thank you," said Ruby.

He supported her back as she sat up. "You seem well," he said. "How do you feel about the Sixth Trial?"
 

"I won't find out if I passed the Trial until the council meets again, but I'm happy with what I did." The doctor's hand rested warm and comforting on her back. Ruby held still. She wanted him to touch her so badly.

"The council meets this afternoon," said the doctor, stepping away. He crossed to the flap of his tent and held it open, letting unfiltered sunlight pour in. "I'm not worried."
 

Ruby scooted off the table and followed him to the flap, then paused in the light. It was warm and bright, staining the lower half of her body gold. She didn't want to go.

"There's nothing more I can do for you," said the doctor.

"No," agreed Ruby. "But maybe…." Quickly, before he could stop her, Ruby reached for his cock. She grasped it through the folds of his robe, hard and hot and wanting.
 

He stared at her, his face a mask.

Ruby stroked him through the cloth. His cock flexed, the flesh firmed.
 

"I want you so badly," said Ruby.
 

"I know," said the doctor. "I spent the past ten minutes with my face in your pussy, and you were dripping wet."
 

"I'm sorry for what I did," said Ruby.
 

She left the doctor, and spent the rest of the afternoon in her tent with Lily. If she had failed the Trial, she wouldn't linger in the Pavilion. She'd leave in the morning, early, before most of the aspirants woke.

"I'll miss you so much," said Ruby, kissing Lily's breasts.
 

"You haven't failed yet," said Lily, but she paled when the Steward hailed Ruby through the thin barrier of the tent's silk, and asked for permission to enter.
 

"I'll stay with you," said Lily, clasping Ruby's hand. "You're not alone."
 

Ruby called out for the Steward to enter.

He stooped to get through the entrance, then rose to his full, imposing height. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I have news," he said.
 

Ruby squeezed Lily's hand and braced herself.
 

"You passed the Trial, Ruby. Hadn't you guessed?" The Steward held out an emerald bead. "The ministers were unanimous. Even the Treasurer agreed."
 

"Oh, fuck," whispered Ruby. Her muscles turned to water. "Oh, holy fuck."
 

"That's not why I've come at such a late hour," warned the Steward. "The King has summoned you to a new service in the morning. I argued for a longer grace period, but he would not hear me."

"The King?" Ruby repeated. She clutched the bead in her palm. Emerald. Fuck.
 

"Lily, I'm glad you're here," said the Steward. "You'll need to make sure she's ready before Court begins. Can you do that?"

"I'll need help," said Lily. "Will you send Milkweed and Coral to meet me in the baths at dawn?"
 

"Of course," said the Steward. "I'll send the orders now—and I suggest that you both get some rest."
 

"I'm to attend Court?" Ruby asked, after the Steward had gone.

"In a manner of speaking," said Lily. She plumped the pillows. "Now lie down, before I say anything else. The Steward was right—you should rest while you can."
 

It took Ruby too long to fall asleep, and she felt groggy and irritable when Lily dragged her out of bed before dawn.
 

"Forget about your robe," said Lily, tugging her out the tent. "We have to hurry."
 

Milkweed and Coral waited at the entrance to the baths.
 

"What took you so long?" asked Milkweed.

"The water's ready," said Coral.

They surrounded Ruby, leading her to a private bathing chamber made of fine white marble. First they used balls of hard, sugared wax to remove the hair from Lily's body—all the hair, from her upper lip to the tops of her feet.
 

Then they poured buckets of steaming hot water over her naked body. Coral and Milkweed massaged foaming, perfumed soap over every limb and into every crevice while Lily washed Ruby's hair.

After the soap came two different lotions, one dense and odorless, the other light and smelling of burnt sugar.

"Now the dressing room," said Lily, leading the way from the humid bath into a high-ceilinged chamber furnished with many mirrors and cabinets.
 

Lily dusted Ruby's slick, lotioned body with powder while Coral brushed and styled Ruby's hair. Milkweed applied fresh lacquer to Ruby's finger and toenails, then set out an an array of cosmetics, which she applied with methodical precision: powder on Ruby's forehead, cheeks, and chin, kohl on her eyelids and eyelashes, a red pigment on her lips, nipples, and clitoris.

"How much time do we have?" Lily asked.

"None," replied Coral, dashing from the room.

"Court is about to begin," agreed Milkweed. "This is the best we can do."
 

"If only we'd had more time," said Coral, returning with a robe of blue silk. "This will have to do."

Ruby slipped her arms through the sleeves of the robe, and Lily belted it.
 

"I think she looks marvelous," said Lily.

Coral and Milkweed shrugged.
 

"Thank you both," said Ruby.

"Good luck," they chorused.
 

Lily guided Ruby through the halls of the palace, then stopped before they reached a wide archway, framed in elaborate gilded moldings.
 

"I can't follow you inside," said Lily.

"What do I do?" Ruby asked.
 

"The Steward will tell you," said Lily. "Good luck."
 

The throne room was huge, and almost empty. A golden couch, upholstered in red cloth, stood at one end of the square hall, flanked on either side by gilded armchairs.
 

In front of the couch lay a thin pallet. The Steward stood next to it.
 

The Steward gestured her forward and Ruby approached. The room was square, the ceiling domed and pierced by windows to let in light. A few petitioners stood clumped along the wall, as far away from the gilded couch as possible.
 

"I am sorry we do not have more time," said the steward, eyeing her critically. "I cannot explain as I would like. When the King arrives, he will sit on the couch. The seat to his right is for the Queen, and will remain empty. The occupant of the chair to his left changes from day to day, and even from hour to hour."
 

Ruby nodded.
 

"You will lie on the pallet," said the Steward. "During the first stage of the proceedings, you must remain silent. Do not utter a word, or even a sigh, if you can help it. I have ushered more than a dozen aspirants into this room since the Tournament began, and I will warn you now, in the absence of any better preparation, that most of them fail during the first hour."
 

The first hour. Ruby shuddered.
 

"You may leave at any time," he continued. "No matter what the King commands, no matter what anyone who comes here today asks of you, you may always choose to leave. With our thanks, and our deepest gratitude."
 

"But I will fail," said Ruby.

"That would be the end of your Tournament," agreed the Steward. "But the end is near, no matter what. Remember what I said earlier: the only reward for success is a greater challenge."

"You are a wise man," said Ruby.

"I hope that is true," said the Steward. "If you have any questions, ask them now."
 

"My robe?"
 

"Leave it on until someone asks you to remove it."
 

"Thank you."
 

"In Court, a Queen rules," said the Steward, "but that is not your role today. You serve the country—and you represent the Tournament. You wear six beads on your wrist. You understand what that means as well as anyone can. Follow your instincts and you will succeed."
 

The Steward left, and Ruby lowered herself onto the pallet.
 

And waited.

And waited.

The room filled slowly. More petitioners arrived. Courtiers began to trickle in. Foreign dignitaries, odd-looking and oddly dressed, arrived in groups. A few ministers ambled through the archway; the Minister of War winked at her when he arrived. The room buzzed with conversation, but nobody paid attention to Ruby.

A trumpet blew into the noise, and faded into the silence.
 

"The King," announced the Herald in a high, clear voice.
 

The assembled company parted down the middle, and the King stepped into the open space they had created. He wore an embroidered tunic and simple trousers underneath a robe of gold cloth, open at the front. A simple gold crown adorned his dark hair. He looked proud, and preoccupied, and he did not even glance at Ruby as he circled around her to sit on his couch.

The onlookers sat. Many unrolled thin silk cushions so they would not have to rest their haunches on the cold marble floor.
 

"The Ambassador of Atcha and his retainers," called the Herald.
 

Five people entered the room and walked slowly down the bare central walkway to kneel before the King.
 

"Greetings, friend," said the King. He gestured to Ruby. "Morrow welcomes you."

The eldest of the group sat down in the chair to the King's left. Another member of the group, handsome, in the prime of his life, lowered himself onto the pallet. Cocky and pleased with himself, he opened the blue silk robe Ruby wore to reveal her naked body.
 

The audience murmured appreciatively. The young Atchik lowered the front of his trousers, revealing his cock and balls. He took his cock in one hand, pumping and squeezing, and fondled Ruby's breasts with the other.
 

Ruby's breath came faster. The Atchik was sleek and well-groomed. He had flashing green eyes and loose hair with a slight wave. He looked costly and delicious.
 

Once the Atchik was hard, he dropped Ruby's breast and signaled to someone behind her. A servant dashed forward with a small pitcher of oil. The Atchik coated his cock in the oil and displayed himself to the audience.
 

Ruby shivered with desire. What a big, glorious cock he had. How she would love it when he fucked her.

He urged her onto her back. Ruby spread her legs and he crawled between them, lifting her hips as he positioned himself. He met her eyes as he fit the tip of his oiled cock against her asshole. A faint, sly smile playing about his handsome lips, but Ruby didn't understand why.
 

The handsome Atchik pumped his hips slowly, pushing his cock into her ass. When the tight ring of muscle closed around the head of his cock, he looked away, down at the cold marble floor, and began to fuck her.
 

Ruby bit her cheek to hold back a cry.
 

She hadn't practiced this—had never tried to suppress her reactions to sex, when all the pleasure came from sharing them. He was big, just the right size for her cunt, but too large to fit comfortably in her ass. It would have been such a relief to thrash and moan. To wail at the intrusion, and then groan with pleasure.
 

The young Atchik set a delicious rhythm, and he fucked her well.

Next to them, the King sat on his couch discussing a trade agreement with the elder Atchik ambassador. They spoke of grain and ore, of ivory and fur. Their voices carried in the perfect silence. The audience, if they closed their eyes and listened, would have heard the steady drone of their conversation and not the muted
thwap
of the handsome Atchik's cock as he pumped it steadily into Ruby's ass.

The handsome Atchik squeezed his eyes shut and began to pant. Ruby spread her legs wider and tilted her hips to receive his thrusts, deep and powerful. She felt like he'd wrapped his fist around her heart, and gave her pleasure every time he squeezed.
 

The handsome Atchik grew fevered and urgent. He opened his eyes and, fingers squeezing her hips, grunted.

Instantly, the elder ambassador and the King fell silent. The whole room fell silent, and Ruby felt hundreds of eyes on her. On the Atchik, as he reached his climax, throwing his head back in a silent rictus of pleasure.

The elder ambassador rose from the chair and bowed deeply to the King.

"Are you satisfied with your audience?" asked the King.

The ambassador looked to the young Atchik, who nodded.

"We are humbled by the Kingdom of Morrow's generosity," said the elderly ambassador, bitterly, and led his group from the hall.

A pair of serving girls rushed Ruby out of the room and cleaned her with startling efficiency. They returned her to the pallet as a new group of dignitaries approached the King.