Court of the Crimson King
Copyright© 2025 by Fick Suck
Chapter 30
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 30 - 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
The door latch had always reminded North of a fairytale creature’s club, rubbed smooth from years and years of battles. The memory from his childhood gave him a momentary smile as he pushed down hard and leaned in with his shoulder to push open the door. An immediate mixture of smells assaulted his nose, and he recognized every one of them.
He glanced back at Paquin and Bordo before he motioned them to follow him through the entrance. Once inside, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the hanging lanterns. At one of the tables towards the back and against the wall, North found the man he was seeking. He weaved around the half-filled tables until he stood next to man, already a bit red around the eyes.
“Da,” North called out loudly, “I’ve come back, and I’ve got a few things to say to you.”
“North?”
“Yes, dad, I’m back from the war and all the crap that followed. I want you to meet the woman I’m going to marry.”
His father looked up and took in his uniform. Then he turned and looked around his son at his two companions who were similarly dressed. “By the gods what happened to you? Someone took a magic stick and turned you into a noble or something?”
“‘Or something’ is on the mark, dad,” North said. He motioned Bordo over and on cue, they both slipped a hand under the man’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. “I only want to tell the tale once, meaning you’re done here for the evening and we’re going home to Ma.”
“Hey, he has a bar tab to pay,” the tavern keep called out. “He’s not leaving until it’s paid.”
“How much is it?” North asked
“Four silvers,” the man said.
“Horseshit,” North called out. He dropped his father’s arm, letting him sag against Bordo. North tromped over to the man and gave him one of his best glares. “I know beer and I know the cost. What game are you playing?”
“No high flouting noble, no matter how minor is going to storm into my tavern and tell me how to run my business. Pay up or face the constable.”
“Allow me,” Paquin said with an evil smile as pushed North aside. “My dear man, have you ever heard of the curse of the Fire Witch?”
“No, I can’t say I have, and I don’t take kindly to threats, especially from the likes of you,” He said and spat over the bar, near her.
Paquin smiled wider. “I hoped you’d say something like that.” She slid a Power glove on her left hand and charged it brightly for all to see. When everyone’s eyes were wide and bright with the flame, she tossed a disc of Power at the man, who screamed when the disc struck. Light flashed, blinding most. When all could see, the tavern keep still stood, albeit completely bald and clean shaven with a bright red face.
“Two coppers, you ugly bastard,” North’s father croaked.
North placed two coppers on the bar.
“Know this, little man,” Paquin said. “If the Jack of Spades or the Fire Witch even hear a hint of trouble, we will tear this building down to the ground and remove every limb from your body. The Personal Sword of Adrianna Victorious, long may she reign, will not tolerate the stupidities of a bent man. While you served your swill and twiddled your numblies, he faced down the Butcher with his named sword. Pray we don’t return, little man, for it will not go well for you.”
As they made their way towards the door, an old man called out, “Pray tell, dear Lady, what is the name of his sword?”
“Dauntless,” all three said.
“Damn,” the old man blurted.
Outside, the older man wrestled out of the grip of the two soldiers. “I can walk just fine,” he groused. “What the hell was that shit you just slung back there?”
“My name is part of the story I have to tell, Da,” North said. “How’s Ma?”
“She still hates my drinking but is still up for my loving,” he said. “She’s gone a little gray, but she can still wield her cleaver like she was born to it.”
“Cleaver?” Paquin asked.
“Every farm has its own abattoir,” North explained. “Ours is larger than most and neighbors bring their animals over for slaughter because her skills are worth the extra coin. Dad takes care of the field and does the hunting in season.”
“This your bride?” North’s father asked.
“Aye,” North said with pride in his voice.
“I like the way she handles things. She goes right to the heart of the matter with a big stick and no tolerance for horseshit,” he said. “Reminds me of your mother back in the day. When I asked the Twilla chief for her hand, he laughed at me. He told me no one could hold that woman down without suffering grievous harm. I told him I was simply planning to hold on for dear life, and he laughed harder.”
“Bordo, the man on your left, is seeking to talk to the chief about a wife,” North said.
His father laughed. “The curse spoken among the Twilla tribe is, ‘May your days be full.’ You take a woman from them, you will live that curse and beg for every minute more. There isn’t a finer woman built, present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course,” Paquin said with a smile. “When I’m wed, am I to call you Father?”
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