Court of the Crimson King
Copyright© 2025 by Fick Suck
Chapter 11
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 11 - When a cranky young veteran of the repulsed brutal invasion is found and returned to the Court of the Crimson King, he is shocked by the poor state of the kingdom. North is dragooned into the reigning queen’s retinue, a position fraught with politics, intrigue, magic, and hints of destiny. The Court is an intricate dance that one must master or else disappear into oblivion. Based loosely on the song of the same title by King Crimson.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa
North swept his cards into a pocket inside his jacket. Botham was tapping his foot with impatience as North slowly rose from his seat, doing his best to accommodate the new bruises under his clothes. Reluctantly, he followed the young man to the next anguished conversation. The practice fields with their pummeling by his fellows in back and his pummeling of the trainees in the front was a salve on his nerves compared to the afternoon meetings and appointments. Alomar explained that North’s sentiment was a clear example of irony. North then learned the definition of irony and he was not sure he was better for it. Alomar slapped him on the back and congratulated him on his next use of irony.
“Ambassador Yasin was most eager to receive your acceptance of a meeting over tea,” Botham said. “I also made a daring request of the ambassador, one of those little tweaks at the Court that you appear to relish.”
North rubbed his hands. “What minor insult will I deliver today?”
“Tea will be served in the Salon, sir,” Botham said, barely able to contain his glee.
“How ever shall they fumigate the room after I depart?” North said as a smile blossomed across his face.
“There is a caveat, sir. There are a series of policy remarks this afternoon with mandatory attendance for the Court: lords, ladies, and senior staff. The Queen has presented her financial and policy objectives for the coming fiscal year and now the Secretaries will respond how they will transform her objectives into policy and protocol. No one else will be present at the Salon.”
“Sounds dreadful and bone-dry boring,” North said. “Still, I shall grace the rooms of the Salon and even without pissing on the walls, they will be appalled. Come my faithful companion, let us avail ourselves of this engineered opportunity.”
“You sound more like a member of the Court every day, sir, which reminds me, after your tea with the Ambassador, you will be meeting with Dame Minogue in her office.”
“Let’s not spoil your surprise, Botham. In a few moments I will be swilling the tea with my betters. If she uses the teacups, I can sip with my little pinkie off to the side. If only my Da could see me now.” North would have clicked his heels if the back of his legs did not hurt as much as they did, at least that is what he told himself.
Botham scratched his arm. “Excuse me, sir, but most people would be intimidated to step into such a place. Are you not a little nervous at least?”
North shook his head and clapped his hand upon the younger man’s shoulder. “The intimidation is how they keep you from sticking your nose in their rooms. Most people aren’t willing to face down their fear and in doing so, toss away their curiosity.”
They continued walking in silence, entering the building, and continuing down the stately hallway past several doorways. The last doorway on the left had an etched window embedded within the doorframe backed by a white lace curtain. The etching was daffodils in bloom.
“In this Hall, the patrons do not touch the door handles, only the servants,” Botham said in a near whisper. “I know this is against your philosophy, but I beg you because the rule is about me and not about you.”
“Carry on,” North replied with a sigh. “How many insults can these people weave into the fabric? These past days I’ve had my head spun in one direction or another by these petty and ridiculous rules and traditions. I wonder with concern how the Court manages to function without tripping over their own feet.”
He stepped through the doorway into the first room proper. The walls were covered in a fabric wallpaper, pale yellow with fairy wrens perched on twigs. Their bright blue caps contrasted against the black heads were unmistakable. In this room, the wooden chairs had backs without arms. In one corner were two music stands, a foot stool and a taller stool.
Stepping into the next room, North took in the paintings on the wall. They were stacked from the floor to the ceiling, almost on top of each other. There were nature scenes, portraits, and scenes of grand architecture. In the corner were two paintings of tavern scenes that he thought captured the mood of such places later in the night when the second and third mugs had settled in one’s belly.
North continued into the third room. The two sofas stood out, facing each other with a table between them. Two wingback chairs on either side of the sofas completed the sitting area. Each wall held a bookcase, filled with knickknacks and books presented in an orchestrated haphazard fashion. A tea set was already waiting on the table, steam escaping from the spout. The ambassador was standing in the corner with her nose in a book.
North cleared his throat.
The ambassador looked up with a smile on her face. “Jack of Spades.”
“Ambassador Yasin.”
“What an inspired choice for a private meeting,” she said as she returned her book to a shelf. “The prim and proper will be suitably disappointed to miss your presence in their holy precinct. Alas, they are called to duty, and we can indulge ourselves without their judgments to stain the breathable air. Come and sit, good sir.”
“You speak with a sharp tongue, madam, yet delicately couched in good language,” North said as he sat on a sofa. She settled onto the cushion of the other sofa and reached for the teapot. “I see that I have been a bit blunt at times since I have arrived here.”
She poured the first cups before speaking. “Just as Adrianna Victorious conceived your role. You are expected to speak in clear language what she cannot pronounce without repercussions. Did she coach your speech the first night after you sliced up that bloviated fool?”
The silence stretched as North considered her words. He sipped the tea. Finally, he admitted defeat, “I don’t understand.”
“You wear your righteous indignation like a cape upon your shoulders,” she said, leaning in. “Did you learn this righteous anger in your mother’s lap?”
“No,” North said, trying to figure out where she was leading him. “I knew nothing of the world until I left home.”
“You move so blithely through the Court and its peoples, yet you are blind to the truths right in front of your nose. You’re the only surviving apprentice of Lord Aegis, his last and his best student. He was grooming you to rise to his station until the moment he was struck down.”
“Aegis,” North muttered, as if that name answered all his questions.
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