A Devil's Bride
Chapter 13: Children of the Lilies
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 13: Children of the Lilies - Orpheia, a rare, visually tantalizing creature, has ensnared the attention of a tyrant king whose bloodline is responsible for the slaughtering of Orpheia’s people. Forced to choose between marrying the king and losing the lives of her beloved people, Orpheia calls upon the power of Hell to gain the upper hand. Inspired by Frankenstein, Carmilla, and all things Halloween, this gothic novel is sure to satiate those who crave brutal, bloody romance.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Hypnosis NonConsensual Romantic Lesbian Shemale Paranormal Ghost Magic Demons Humiliation Light Bond Size Caution Halloween Royalty
Orpheia suffered through a fretfully lonesome afternoon tea, watching the sun dry up the rainwater left behind on the gallery. She had been stripped of her damp clothes with a furious lecture from Lucilia, and draped in a thick robe. Reith gave her a lie to feed to the maid, claiming that the priest had attempted to lock her out onto the balcony as punishment for refusing to scorn Lu’a. When she still refused to conform, he fled the scene. To further the ruse, Reith had Orpheia remain outside in the rain, locking the doors right as Lucilia entered her bed chambers. Though the lie came at the cost of her comfort and awarded her a spanking across her bare buttocks at Lucilia’s hand. Her skin still stung with splinters from the large burr oak branch the maid whipped her with. Lucilia likely would have struck Orpheia’s face instead, but Meyrick wasn’t yet done tormenting his bride. She was to venture into the kingdom on an errand; it seemed. The king wished to show her the land that he had acquired to grow the ingredients for her healing baths. Orpheia shuddered, for she was not sure what to expect of the kingdom’s reactions to her in a carriage with Meyrick. She would be presented by his side; their first official declaration of betrothal to the public. There was a chance that Meyrick’s subjects would drag her into the street and beat her into the dirt. Meyrick might not raise a hand to stop them.
Lucilia dried Orpheia off when she was finished with her meal, then pinned back her hair to keep it out of her face. Her spidery tendrils draped down her back in a long braid, held in place with ribbons and metal beads. Her gown was loose and dark, hanging off of her hips in asymmetrical layers of black chiffon. Her tights were replaced with black ones, and her boots made of the same black nightmare leather as her tight-fitted bodice. Her breasts were thrust up toward the sky when Lucilia tightened her corset. She was given chiffon opera gloves that ran up to her shoulders and was adorned in black jewels from her face to her neck. Orpheia stared back at her black-brushed eyelids and redrawn white eyebrows. She bit into her plump black lips, for she was torn between the delight of seeing herself dressed in magnificence and the dread of knowing the cost of her luxury.
“This is the final piece,” Lucilia stated. She dragged along a heavy wad of nightmare leather that had been dyed white. Orpheia sneered at the color choice.
“What is it?” Orpheia asked. She threaded her arms through the holes as prompted, feeling the warmth of velvet-lined sleeves through her gloves.
Lucilia tied a knot around the garment’s collar, then flipped a heavy hood over Lucilia’s head, concealing the entirety of her face from onlookers. “A cloak. We can’t have the people knowing of your bestial nature. They aren’t ready for such horrors.”
Orpheia’s heart sank. She knew she should not have been surprised, yet she mourned the loss of what could have been a curious opportunity to examine the strength of human decency. Though perhaps it was a security measure. In which case, Orpheia was quite thankful.
“I can hardly see out of this thing,” Orpheia said. Her voice was swallowed up in the fabric of her hood, muffling the sound of it. “How am I to observe the kingdom?”
“You are only to accompany the king. Nothing else,” Lucilia jeered back. “And you can see plenty. Queens are meant to hold their heads low in shame around their kings. Such is customary. So long as you can see the floor you are walking on, that is enough.”
Orpheia let out a furious huff, but the maid would not budge. It was a royal order. Orpheia would be greatly punished for removing the cloak. Thus, she was forced to parade around in the morbid charade, acting as if she were a spirit haunting the corridors of the palace as Lucilia escorted her to the carriages. Orpheia was keenly aware of two other heavy footsteps walking behind them. The clink of armor in her ear informed her that these stalkers were royal guards. Her chest throbbed, for she was unaware of why they were following the women so closely. Was it merely for protection, or was Meyrick finally doubting Orpheia’s innocence in all the disappearances? Perhaps Reith’s plan with the priest was foolish after all. Orpheia would have to be careful with her next kill.
Orpheia could barely tell they had stepped back outside until the humidity from the recent rainfall left her to sweat inside her prison of leather.
“Ah, there she is,” Meyrick greeted proudly. “That is my dear little phantom in there, isn’t it?” He howled at his own joke. Snickers surrounded them. “I can take her from here, Lucilia. You may retire until our return.”
Lucilia’s tone changed severely as she thanked the king. Orpheia scowled at the sound of joy in her voice. She was practically trembling with delight in Meyrick’s shadow.
“Come,” Meyrick said. He found Orpheia’s hand beneath her layers of leather and slowly dragged her forward. “We must away. Much to get done before nightfall. We are hosting guests.”
Orpheia sucked in a hesitant breath. “Guests?” She asked.
Meyrick made a noise of confirmation, but did not answer aloud.
Was Orpheia meant to wear the cloak during the entire event, or was that to be the night she made her public debut? Not one tucked away inside of the palace walls, of course, where monsters and men were invited to ogle her body. But one to the distinguished public. His royal court, of which Orpheia had heard little to nothing about. There was hardly any fanfare in the royal halls. They didn’t spring with the voices of dukes and duchesses nor wealthy allies. They were quiet. Still. Full of rats, guards, and dust. The king presented himself as a private person. But private people often just had more they wished to hide.
Playing the part of a gentleman, Meyrick extended his hand gracefully to Orpheia, giving her a step inside of the carriage. The black velvet interior was identical to the carriage that had escorted Orpheia from the chapel, only this one was much roomier. It accommodated Orpheia’s heavy cloak, as well as the king’s broad frame. It was stuffy with the two of them facing one another, and Orpheia itched to pull her hood down and allow herself to breathe. But just as she dared graze the hem of the fabric against her gloved fingers, Meyrick grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her hand away without a word.
“You’re ashamed of me,” Orpheia muttered under her breath. The statement was loud enough, however, to catch the attention of the coach’s driver outside. Meyrick scowled and slammed the door shut, locking the two of them in privacy. “You make such a fuss about displaying me in front of your armies and your generals, yet among your people I am to be a shadow?”
“My people are not yet ready for this news, little phantom,” Meyrick replied coldly. “I have planned your debut intensely. You will be made public when I say.”
He rested his arm against the coach window and watched the horses prepare for departure. Both were sturdy night mares, painted white just as General Bronte’s had been. The carriage, too, appeared to be made of ivory and gilded with gold on the exterior, yet the interior was pitch black and silver-clad.
“You’ve alluded to this before. But you have not explained why.”
The king shrugged. “What is there to explain?”
“You wish to marry me, yet you know your people will not approve. Would that not put you in danger of being overthrown? I know for a fact that the people of Terrsolis are violent, ruthless beings. They slit the throats of that which they do not understand.”
Meyrick threw Orpheia a sharpened glare from the corners of his eyes. His lips twitched, as if prepared to hurl back a fitting insult to contest her jab. But he kept quiet. Something was wrapping up his thoughts. He seemed content to sit in perfect silence, despite Orpheia’s growing agitation.
“Where are we off to?” Orpheia asked, pivoting the conversation. The carriage trembled around them as the driver took his seat above. He whistled a sharp instruction to his work boy, then commanded that the leading horsemen begin their trek. The coach was to be escorted both in the front and in the back by soldiers on horses of their own. Orpheia was reminded of the men that guarded her down from her quarters. Something suspicious was afoot.
“I am to examine the land that will grow the anise, black lilies, and baby’s breath. Your maid should have informed you ahead of time.”
Orpheia nodded slowly. She twisted up her lips into a knowing smirk, finding herself briefly grateful for the hood’s coverage. “She did. I just wasn’t sure I believed her, is all.”
That finally got Meyrick’s attention. He snapped his head to face her, with a furrowed brow. There was a pause between them as the carriage rattled down the loose gravel path and toward the royal gates. Meyrick played king for a minute, smiling and nodding to the guards that watched his doors, then turned right back to Orpheia.
“You take Lucilia for a liar?” he asked.
“Of course not. I merely take her king for a fool.”
Meyrick scowled. His hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. “And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?”
“You do understand that each of those ingredients are to be grown in different climates, correct? Perhaps you have the soil here for the lilies, but how do you suppose my people grow them so rich and black? That is a secret we shall take to our graves.”
“Is that so?” Meyrick’s chest collapsed with a sharp huff. Orpheia smiled proudly to herself, for a sudden idea sparked in her head.
“What if I could propose an exchange to you?” She asked. She attempted to keep her voice from sounding too excited, for she knew Meyrick would never give her something she truly wanted.
Meyrick waved a hand as an invitation, pairing the motion with an inaudible sigh. “What say you, then?”
“I propose opening a trade route between the Umbranians and Terrsolis. With the promise that you will end our unnecessary slaughter upon our marriage, you might consider paying my people to grow the ingredients our son will need to remain healthy and strong. Surely even you can see the importance of that.”
Meyrick nodded slowly. His gaze was settled back toward the window.
Orpheia continued, unbothered by his silence. “A trade route would not only aid my people in regrowing what we have lost, but it would fertilize the ground with a blooming economy. You could more easily obtain the artistry and furnishings that you adore so much from craftsmen and artisans willing to carve and sew. And think about all the land in between that you might aid from, in a mutual sense. You could spread the word of Sol without killing your audience.”
Meyrick mused over the concept for a moment, extending Orpheia’s patience out on a fine thread. It snapped when he let out a breathy chuckle. He rested his head against the back of the carriage wall and watched the city envelop them.
“What an adorable dream,” he said. “Do not speak of it again.”
Orpheia’s heart plummeted with the sound of his final laugh. Her chest remained hollow and echoed out her pain. Each breath felt like her body was being shoved to the ground, then forcibly yanked back up. The answer to all of their problems was so simple. So economic. Yet Meyrick couldn’t look past his blood-soaked eyes for even a moment to consider it. He truly was a monster, down to his heart. Orpheia forced herself to glance away from him and focus instead on the opposite window. She hoped that getting a good look at the city she was to rule might take her mind off of her family for a moment. But Meyrick sliced through that desire as if it were mere air when he tilted Orpheia’s head back down and forced her to stare at his lap.
“You mustn’t let the people see you,” he snapped. “Otherwise, what would be the point of the hood?”
“But I don’t even know what your kingdom looks like. I know little about your people or your culture. Am I not entitled to learn these things if I am to be your queen?”
“Don’t be daft,” he said with a scoff. “That is what your tutoring is for. You will learn what our land looks like through artworks crafted by masters and poetry scrawled out with artistic fervor. That is all you need. That is all anyone needs.”
“Propaganda,” Orpheia said. The word was not meant to escape her lips, yet it lingered between them for far too long. Orpheia was unable to play it off as a knot of syllables caught in her throat. All she could do was hold her breath and await Meyrick’s response.
He shrugged his shoulders loosely. “I suppose. But eventually you won’t even know what that word means, pet. So you ought not worry your pretty little head.”
Orpheia sneered.
That was it then. The final nail in the coffin. Meyrick would have to die. A man who could not be reasoned with in the interest of saving lives and boosting the prosperity of his own kingdom was not a man worthy of breathing. Orpheia would need to bring Reith more bodies, and fast. But where she might find them was a mystery. The demon had already vetoed killing the last of Orpheia’s maids. She was strong enough to take on only one soul at a time. Her power had not yet stretched beyond her mortal frame. Orpheia had faith, however, that once Reith’s body was whole, she would emulate the dark, hell-bound power that caused goosebumps to prick Orpheia’s skin at the mention of her name. Orpheia’s loins yearned for Reith’s touch. They were branded with the sensation of black candle smoke encircling them. Orpheia wondered what might have happened on Devil’s Night, had Samhain not walked in on her incantation. She pondered that very thought for a while, in fact, allowing her mind to flush her cheeks with fantasies of passion and desire as Meyrick chose angry silence over the company of his bride. Had he known her mind was full of lust, he surely would have her thrown beneath the night mares’ thundering hooves.
The agonizingly silent ride lasted much longer than Orpheia cared for. She disliked carriage rides greatly. Not just for the tiny enclosure she was forced to suffocate inside of, but for the inconvenience of exposure. There was nothing like a walk in her city to clear her head. Despite the dangers of bruising her porcelain skin, Orpheia was quite fond of donning leather gowns and lace parasols and braving the streets of her home to bask in its sights, smells, and sounds. Music made of oak wood and animal skins filled her head. Sharp bone flutes and harmonious silken harps. The smell of spices and rich, buttery crusts filled her nostrils and rumbled her belly, even when it was full. When she was a wee thing, the bakers would often slip misshapen pastries to the children that passed. They were encouraged to break the delights into pieces and share with one another. It was a joy just to have a morsel in one’s palm, for the bakers would only reward the most charitable. Orpheia’s nostalgic smile weighed heavily on her face. It turned downward as she pictured the faces that surrounded her in her youth. They all were wise to the horrors happening in the cities surrounding them. Yet they remained ignorant in the presence of the children. Of course, after Selina’s brutal execution, when Orpheia turned white with grief, it became harder and harder for people to hide their worry. Orpheia could easily recall those once-shining smiles starting to crack after her ninth birthday. The sadness in her people’s eyes was unmistakable. Yet they smiled through the pain. Through the fear. Through the knowledge that everything they held dear would be ripped from their hands at any given moment. And there sat the cause of it all: the king of Terrsolis, who stuck up his nose and refused peace for a reason so deplorable that Orpheia was too baffled to even admit it to herself. Meyrick didn’t want peace, because where was the fun in that?
“Here it is,” Meyrick announced. The sound of his voice startled Orpheia, who had become hypnotized by the sound of the dirt crunching beneath the carriage’s wheels. She had done her best to block out the riotous noise outside of the city’s loyal residents crying out in support of their king. But it was nearly impossible not to hear the cheers of children following along the carriage’s sides, avoiding the deadly hooves of the night mares. Each of them scrambled just to lay a finger upon the gilded golden carriage. There were rumors that Terrsolis was growing poorer and poorer as the days grew cold.
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