Court of the Crimson King
Copyright© 2025 by Fick Suck
Chapter 14
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 14 - 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 returned to the Royal office wing, only this time he turned right into the first doorway. The clerk pulled his eye spectacles down his nose to stare at the intruder who had dared to enter unannounced into his esteemed sanctuary. While North was impressed by the tomes and scrolls shoved in every conceivable space, he was less than amused with the occupant.
“The Jack of Spades to see Lord Terrapin,” North spoke as if the words were sour on his tongue.
“I shall see if his lordship is available,” the clerk replied.
North had been expecting no less a reception. “I have an appointment. I will not be waiting for his lordship while he plays his little games. In two minutes, I am walking down the hallway to register my remedy with my Liege, and I assure you, in two more minutes, I will have your head swinging from the ramparts. Well?”
“Of course, sir,” the thin man squeaked as he shot out of his chair and ran through the inner door. In less than minute, he appeared, “His lordship will see you, now.”
“Thank you,” North said as immodestly as he could muster.
“Your lordship,” North said with a bow as he approached the large desk that was piled high on both sides, but clear in the middle. “Thank you for receiving me.”
“You didn’t need to make him shit his pants,” Lord Terrapin said. “A firm word would have sufficed.”
“O Lord Terrapin, you have no idea how that clerk wields his position in your shadow over any who come within striking distance. He believes he is completely safe from rebuke while standing in your shade. In truth, many consider the man to be an impediment. I asked around.”
“Good to know, but be rest assured Jack of Spades, I have no less than three senior clerks who do most of the heavy lifting. I keep them far away for the likes of you and your reputation.”
North chuckled. “Our Queen sent me, but she didn’t enlighten me. Why am I here, Lord Terrapin?”
“Expeditions cost money. The royal treasury does not release money until I’m satisfied with its distribution,” Lord Terrapin said. “There have been issues in the past that will not be repeated.”
“Oh, you mean like my final pay after the Battle at Albion and the bastard who stole my money,” North said. “I’ve never been made whole, and I’ve not seen his face.”
“You will find a form, which my clerk will get for you,” Lord Terrapin began but North cut him off. His face was slightly flushed.
“You’ve been made aware just as our Queen was informed. I’m not filling out forms for I am seeking blood at this point.”
“We can resolve the matter when you return, Jack of Spades,” Lord Terrapin said as if he had heard the threats often enough to ignore them. “Let us turn to the costs associated with the expedition, shall we?” The man reached over into the left pile and pulled a file from the middle. He laid the file in front of him and opened it. “We have strict limits when it comes to lodging at inns and way stations along the way.”
“We will be riding hard and fast,” North said. “We’re also planning to depart from the roads and head directly to Mt. Albion as soon as possible. I don’t see us spending many nights at inns or swigging casks of beers each night.”
“Yes, the senior officers make much the same noise, but then they hand over their accounts that tell a different story,” Lord Terrapin said. “We shall start off on a different foot.”
For three hours, North sat and listened to the man drone on about the ins and outs of plotting and executing a budget for a military expedition. The concepts were not difficult, but the protocols and the expected process of filing reports and account updates had North wondering if there would be time for him to ride a horse any distance or pick up his sword without filling out a line on a form.
When the last of his patience had dissipated, North interrupted the monologue, “With all due respect, your lordship, this is not going to happen. Wars and battles are not orderly, nor is there time to stop and access the monies spent. We tend the wounded and bury the dead because they are the only priority.”
“You need to understand your station,” the Lord Terrapin snapped.
North stood up. “My station I understand, and my duty is clear. I will do my best to adhere to your requests though that is all I will promise you. From your lecture, I take away that you have no idea of the danger and the urgency of this expedition. I answer first to our Queen and her orders are primary.”
“What is it about this mission of yours that supersedes all of the treasury’s protocols?” The lord leaned forward over his desk with an eager face.
“If the queen has not revealed its nature, then you and your office are not trusted,” North said with a slight smile. “Someone in this office has big ears and a bigger mouth. If you wish to be brought closer into our Queen’s confidence, I suggest you tidy your own closets, my lord.” With that statement, North spun on his heel and departed.
Later that afternoon, he sat in one of the small conference rooms that he had commandeered in the past weeks. The military leaders were a floor above, happy to be left on their own to act officious, pretending to be overly inundated with official business. The bureaucrats that came and went as North conducted his business had little to say other than “thank you” when he dropped off a small sack of tea leaves or a pouch of sugar for their afternoon tea breaks. He would never call it bribery.
Paquin waltzed in and gave him a peck on the cheek. She spread out the sheets before her on the table and without sitting or preamble demanded, “Spell reliant.”
“B-u-l-l-s-h-i-t,” North grumped. “My head is about to explode; my ears are bleeding; my voice is hoarse, and my limbs are trembling with fatigue.”
“We could go to the tavern,” she sang with an exclamation point.
“O yes, I would dearly love to have my head handed to me on a silver platter – again. Your mother was less than understanding, which was bad enough. Then, the Yellow Jester had to pull off his latest operetta with a verbatim oratorio that had the Queen laughing in stitches until someone pointed out who this romancing fool might be and who, the damsel with a potty mouth, could also be. She shoved my head so far up my ass that I was constipated for days. So, no.”
Paquin shrugged. “It was worth it.” She stroked his arm before sitting down, “Do you want me to kiss all your boo-boos away?”
North grunted.
“Well, pooh,” she uttered like an epitaph.
“What did I tell you about that word?” North snapped.
“The word is still risqué among these unmarried pre-shriveled maidens with whom I am forced to lodge,” she said. “Plus, p-l-u-s, when we have children, we will not be seeding their vocabulary with shit, piss, and crap.”
“Is it children, now?” North said, his heart picking up a tick.