Author's Note: I apologize for the long hiatus on this story. It's not easy to stay inspired without reviews (hint, hint, joking—slightly). I decided to introduce Reaver at this point, and trust me, he's going to play a very big role in the story to come. Fan of Sparrow? I'm going to make you hate him by the end of the story. Fan of Reaver? You'll be surprised by the depths to which he sinks at the end of the story. That's all I can say for now. Enjoy Chapter 3. Chapter 4 is coming soon.
Chapter 3: Intercourse
Eight Months Later…
An immodest display of white and gold lined Market Road as the carriage rumbled through the district from Old Town: banners of white and gold cloth; happily jingling white and gold bells; sprays of white and gold flowers; and the people of Bowerstone decked in white clothes and gold for those who could afford it.
An uncovered ivory carriage with decorative purple ribbons rumbled down Market Road. The horses were bridled to the carriage with purple bridles and the driver in his seat of prestige and honor wore purple knee-length breeches, purple vest, purple coattails, gold buckled shoes, and gold tricorn hat. Two armed footmen rode on the back of the carriage dressed in the same attire as the driver, but white leather boots adorned with embroidered gold crowns shod their feet.
It was for the two occupants of the carriage that so much white and gold bedecked Market Road. On one side, the handsome King of Albion waved graciously to the crowd and smiled beatifically at his subjects. Dressed in a white general's knee length coat with gold shoulder epaulettes, white linen pants, and cream leather boots, Sparrow had allowed hairstylist to dye his locks three shades darker and drape them freely over his shoulders. He had lavished money from his substantial personal wealth for the display for the people of Albion, as he was eager to showcase his companion, his new wife Lady Eleanor Norfolk of Bloodstone.
Decorated in a flowing white satin dress with a gossamer train and veil that filled most of the uncovered carriage, the ravishing, fresh-faced blonde beamed at her adoring audience. Eleanor's tumbling, straightened hair rivaled her husband's in a style that would be envied by women of all classes and imitated by hairdressers throughout the land. Lilies, the young Queen's favorite flower, wove in and out of strands of blond. Her makeup enhanced her gorgeous, delicate features without overpowering them.
While she grinned at the wildly cheering audience, Sparrow clutched her right hand in his left so firmly that she wondered if he feared a desperate escape attempt.
They had wed in an invitation-only ceremony at the Temple of Light in Oakfield at sunset the day prior. The grounds of the flourishing Temple held more than 500 guests from Albion's lords, ladies, captains, and soldiers, as well as their personal friends. After the current Abbot had bestowed some advisory words on the purity of marriage and an exchange of vows, they were anointed with water from the Wellspring of Light and kissed.
It was a day's journey from the Temple to Bowerstone Castle. Yet, there were no stops at inns along the way because the newlyweds were eager to lay with each other in the solitude of their own home. Sparrow's only regret had been the guest list, a topic that still had him bristling, as his only friends were far from Albion and his family was deceased.
Eleanor had not spoken to Sparrow since the King had staged an ugly scene in front of the Temple of Light. As they strode arm-in-arm into the Temple courtyard, Eleanor wanted to greet her adoring guests. Sparrow remained restless during those conversations, shifting from foot to foot, glancing into the distance, or bluntly hovering over her shoulder. The new Queen had not seen her family in months but in searching for them within the crowd, Sparrow had expressed open discontent and they departed.
"My love, is all well?" he suddenly asked.
The teenaged bride turned to her husband. "Of course, Sparrow, it's my wedding day! I just married the most marvelous man in all of Albion! Why would anything be wrong?"
"You just seemed worried now."
Eleanor offered a dismissive smile as the carriage passed into the luxurious Bowerstone Gardens. The heady scent of white roses, lilacs, violets, and daffodils—only flowers of the colors of the new royal house—embraced the carriage. "I was merely concerned with the lack of time I spent with my family at the Temple. I know I'll see them at the castle."
"I didn't put them on the guest list," Sparrow stated simply.
Her emerald eyes widened in shock while her fine brow contorted in rage. "How did you fail to invite my parents and brothers to our wedding reception?"
Sparrow pasted a warm smile on his face as he greeted the crowd gathered around Bowerstone Castle. "I did not invite them to the reception because they were not invited to the wedding."
The young queen folded her arms across her chest. "Bloodstone is over four hundred miles north of here. There is no way that Jasper or anyone else can fix this problem. Why did you do this? This is my wedding day!"
Eleanor shrieked her final words. Several guests near the carriage gaped in shock and confusion. As they came to a stop at the castle doors, Sparrow snatched his young wife's hand from her bosom and hastily yanked her into the isolation of the castle halls. He ignored the bold stares of servants in the halls as his marching feet echoed on the lonely stone walls.
Eleanor wrestled with him, but the Hero of Bowerstone was much stronger than she. It was the first time she had felt so weak and unprepared since she was eight and her brother Rory locked her within the unused room of their Bloodstone mansion that formerly belonged to their mother. She had pounded on the door for hours until a servant came to her aid. Then, unlike the present moment, the master of the house was a man who cared deeply for her wants and needs.
When they reached the library at the rear of the castle, Sparrow flung Eleanor against a wall, slammed the door, and locked it. Sparrow ignored the Queen's gasp of pain and the indignation that crossed her face as he marched up to her and seized her face in the palm of his left hand. "Eleanor, my love, citizens of Albion just saw you display a tantrum less than forty-eight hours into our wedded bliss. Soothsayers would say that bodes evil for our marriage."
Eleanor shoved futilely at his hand. "You did not invite my family," she growled from her throat. "How dare you to lecture me on etiquette, you street spawn?"
The King glared daggers at his Queen. After a whirlwind courtship of four months, during which Westcliff and Southcliff submitted to the Army of Albion, he had proposed to Eleanor during an intimate dinner while visiting the Bower Lake Dweller Camp. Some citizens were impressed easily by the teenage queen's youthful beauty, charismatic charm, cheerful disposition, and wittiness. Many others, including Walter and Captain Swift, viewed Eleanor as nothing more than a pretty juvenile womb with strong social standing, from which Sparrow could reap the next generation of Heroes. Sparrow had embraced the former opinions while battling the latter without the Queen's knowledge.
Now it seemed as if she desired to prove her detractors correct. Sparrow wanted to strike Eleanor across her face, if only to bruise her. Instead, he backed away.
"You are the Queen now, Eleanor. Soon you will understand that sitting upon a throne and ruling over a land is more than being attractive and having your will done. There are also a number of unpleasant decisions to be made." He turned and opened the library door.
"Before I leave, my love, do not forget that have to preside over the celebratory gala tonight. The elite of Bowerstone will be in attendance, as well as merchants from Rookridge, Brightwood, and the Mistpeak Valley. We have many people to meet and many allies to thank, so prepare to smile, shake numerous hands and dance. Afterward, we will depart to our nuptial bed for a night of sexual delights." Eleanor projected icicles at him with her eyes, but Sparrow, the Hero of Bowerstone, was made of sterner stuff than the young Queen could intimidate.
"Make sure you dress to stun our guests, and maintain that pretty little smile of yours." With the finality of a blown kiss, he closed the library door.
In matching sky blue robes, the royal newlyweds descended the stairs at the rear of Bowerstone Castle later that evening. They observed loftily the dancers sweeping around the patio overlooking the gardens in tune to the ministrations of woodwinds and strings. Renovations on the former Fairfax Castle had begun shortly after Sparrow's proposal to Eleanor, so there was nowhere indoors for the large clot of guests to revel. The ingenious castle decorators Hanse and Chris Anders had purchased several pavilions, which stood gaily in the gardens to shelter the wealthy merchants, landowners, and their beautiful dance partners.
Eleanor was in her element at the gala. In her blue silk gown with gossamer sleeves, she glided through the party on Sparrow's beefy arm. Her smile glowed like the moon, borrowing its luminescence from that of her husband. Even when she detached from Sparrow's side to allow Sparrow to discuss the fiscal affairs of the kingdom in hushed tones with men who frowned upon a non-reigning woman's presence, Eleanor radiated such attractiveness and regal bearing that her position as Queen could not be mistaken.
She was gliding among the guests, bestowing smiles and laughter, receiving kisses on her hand, when Eleanor heard it:
"…being quite difficult, you know. He was gracious enough to impose an amercement on the scoundrels, just hefty enough to enrich the royal coffers. They paid it and increased their affinity for chaos!"
"If you ask me, the King ought to level the entire town. Let them rebel then!"
The Queen paused in her gliding pace to join the two men speaking. One was a red-haired, ruddy-faced, portly gentleman in a yellow rich gentleman's outfit that stretched over his prominent belly. The other was a slim, pale gentleman with thinning blond hair peeking under his shaved wig. He rocked side-to-side in his chair. The two sat across from each other at a small wooden garden table. An emptied wine bottle rested atop the table between two drained wineglasses.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Eleanor said lightly and pleasantly, "do you speak of my lord husband's policies?"
"Ah, it's the Q-Queen h-herself," hiccupped the slender aristocrat.
"Hello, my Queen," greeted the other in a high, nasally voice.
"May Avo smile upon both your houses this evening." Eleanor forced a gracious smile to her lips. "I still request an answer to my question: Were you gentlemen discussing the policies of my lord husband?"
In the presence of such a blatantly authoritative question, it seemed that the night air thickened with tension despite the congenial mood music. The portly gentleman straightened his slumping back. "Yes, milady, we were."
"I heard talk of a rebellious town. In what regard were you discussing them?" Eleanor crossed her arms over her bosom to impress the intoxicated aristocrats with the gravity of her body language.
"Your Highness, I am certain you have heard of the secession of Bloodstone?"
Eleanor blanched. She had heard of no such secession in the months that Sparrow had courted her, or in the weeks preceding the wedding. "Surely the fermented grape has played with your minds. I am Bloodstoner by birth, and my lord father is one of the town's most respected merchants. The people would not dare rebel against the rule of our generous King unless it were to the wrath of my father and my husband."
A sly, victorious smile crossed the slender gentleman's face. "That is the problem, Your Highness. You know of the concessions that the lords of Bloodstone requested of the King, all of which he denied them. Perhaps you could confirm for us whether it was your perfidious father whose seal was affixed to the letter and whose signature was most prominent on their petition?"
The bloated gentleman guffawed rudely. "Concession, you say Lucius? I heard that the underhanded fools demanded that the King should create a Council of Peers entirely from Bloodstone and move the Royal Court to Bloodstone! Imagine the seat of government cut off from the rest of Albion by Wraithmarsh."
Eleanor blanched at these words, but the two gentlemen continued to pierce her with their words. "Why, if the King had complied, the political center of Albion would be isolated by the swamp. No one would dare cross it. It would be impregnable. It's perfect if you wish to keep enemies out."
"Or if you wish to keep the royal family in. Perhaps you could clarify these rumors for us, my Queen?" The bloated gentleman smiled but there was no warmth in his slightly yellowed teeth.
"Bloodstone would never threaten to rebel, or even attempt to extract such weighty demands!" Both gentlemen grinned as Eleanor's cool composure slipped away. "That is preposterous. We are loyal to the Lord our King, and there is nary a man behind the walls of that town who wishes to return to the former days of lawlessness. My lord father would never allow it!"
Eleanor ignored the shrill pitch of her voice or the agitated glances of the whirling guests proximal to her. She could not, however, ignore the laughter of the two gentlemen. "Your Highness, your father is leading the charge for secession against King Sparrow," noted the rotund gentleman.
"Yes, instead of bringing the wealth of Bowerstone securely under the Crown's control as your dower, you have become central to cause for its dissent and unhindered rebellion. Have you even been crowned yet, my young Queen?" taunted Lord Lucius.
Eleanor felt the focus of dozens of eyes upon her discomposed face. Like the two gentlemen before her, they probably all regarded her father as an insurrectionist or traitor and cast her in a questionable light as well. She turned to flee before her reservoir of emotions totally ruptured and found herself embraced by Sparrow's brawny arms.
The young Queen cast the vestiges of her anger regarding their early quarrel into the safety of his arms. Eleanor breathed deeply of his seductive mix of masculine body odor and cologne. "Good evening, Lord Lucius of Heathcliff and Lord Andrew of Rookridge. I trust you have enjoyed the pleasant company of my wife."
"Yes, your Majesty," replied Lord Lucius. Eleanor pulled back from Sparrow's arms just far enough to observe the two men bow to her husband in their seats.
"What, if I may claim the right to ask, was the topic of your conversation?"
"We were discussing with Her Highness the late secession of Bloodstone."
"Such dreadful, heartbreaking business," Lord Andrew added, "but we had not yet heard Her Highness' personal perspective on the matter. Certainly the future mother of the future King has a most stimulating opinion on the matter."
Eleanor pulled back from Sparrow's protective embrace. The cutting words of the two lords seated before her had recalled Eleanor to herself. A sizable crowd had gathered around the group and silently but eagerly awaited the Queen's words. She hoped her makeup had not smudged.
"Bloodstone has chosen to defy my Lord King. He has not yet spent one full year upon the throne, but such overt acrimony must be punished harshly. When Bloodstone falls to Albion's army and navy—and it will, for our soldiers are the mightiest and our ships are built of the finest wood—its leaders must be put to death as a demonstration against future insurgencies."
"You would have this treatment for all the rebels?" asked Lord Andrew.
Without hesitation, Eleanor responded, "Even if it means the life of the father who raised me, I would personally behead each rebel, if the axe were placed in my womanly hands. A daughter's loyalty does not supersede my loyalty to my king, my country, or my husband."
The merchants and landowners gathered around them applauded enthusiastically at the Queen's response. Sparrow was astounded pleasantly by his wife's ruthlessness. To express his joy in Eleanor, Sparrow took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.
'I know how much you must hurt,' Sparrow thought as he gazed into her glittering green eyes. 'I felt your tears on my tunic, and I promise to do everything in my power, Eleanor, to bring about reconciliation with Bloodstone. You won't suffer that unbearable shame, if I can prevent it.'
"Well, I am amazed at the magnitude of this applause! Are all of you that enthused to see my return to Albion?" chortled a familiar male voice within the crowd.
Sparrow stood upright. "Reaver, is that you?"
Reaver, the Hero of Skill, former Pirate King and Lord of Bloodstone, sauntered across the pavilion to where Sparrow and Eleanor stood. He dressed as garishly lavish as when Sparrow first had met him. A turquoise vest with gold embroidery covered the billowy white cotton long-sleeved shirt on Reaver's torso, and gold-and-turquoise slashed harem pants clad his lower body. Reaver's feet were shod in gold genie flats, and his face was brightened by a boisterous smile.
"Yes, it is none other than I, the reigning King of Pirates, returned from Samarkand! Greetings to my adoring public, I am here for your affections once again," he declared with outstretched arms.
"What are you doing here? The last time I saw you, Reaver, you were off to defile all of Samarkand." Sparrow spat the name of the Hero of Skill like an extraordinarily vile curse word.
"Despite my best efforts to accomplish exactly that, the people of Samarkand remain as unsullied as they were before I arrived."
"My Lord Sparrow, who is this man?" Eleanor insinuated her body against Sparrow's, as if expecting his powerful physique to completely envelop her slender frame.
"Eleanor, this is Reaver, the former Pirate King. Reaver," Sparrow gritted his teeth, "this is Eleanor, the Queen of Albion."
Reaver bowed to Eleanor, took her right hand in his, and sensually kissed her soft hand. "A stunning young woman as yet unexposed to my…presence, how delightful. Have no fear, my fair beauty; I intend to expose you several times before the week ends."
Sparrow's hands curled into fists at his sides. He had to grit his teeth against his own venomous tongue. "Reaver, that is my wife to whom you are speaking."
"Well, how delightful to meet you! I have no qualms against being engaged in higher congress with a wedded couple, especially after the drought I experienced in Samarkand."
Eleanor's right hand met his face with a resounding smack.
Several guests gasped. Reaver's scowled lethally as he reached for the Dragonstomper .48 at his waist. The Hero of Bowerstone snatched Reaver's hand, spun him around, and slammed him against the table at which the drunken gentlemen rested. Sparrow's forearm pressed against Reaver's throat. Lords Lucius and Andrew scampered to a safe distance to spectate.
"Well, well," Reaver choked, "there's no need for such aggression, Hero. I prefer it a bit rough, but I am rarely on the receiving end."
"Reaver, you did not come bearing gifts. So why are you here?"
"I find myself in need of lodgings," he rasped and tried unsuccessfully to break free of Sparrow's grip, "as my mansion in Bloodstone is in the most unfortunate state of ruin and my fortune has disappeared. I hoped to find you in a pique of neighborly kindness."
Sparrow pulled Reaver to his feet, still holding the Hero of Skill's arm in a punishing lock, and considered his next words with the scrutiny of a sophisticated politician. Although he had spent his formative years on the streets of Old Town and in the Dweller Camp, years of dialectic training with Jasper had refined the Hero-King. "Eleanor, my love, what do you think?"
Reaver's eyes widened fearfully at a glance at the woman who bore him no sympathy, of all the women in the garden. She assessed him with her glittering green eyes then looked to her husband. "My Lord the King, do you have some empty property where the homeless pirate can reside?"
"Yes, my love, I suppose I have a residence in Old Town where Reaver could stay for some time?"
"Me, reside among the lumpenproletariat?" Reaver scoffed. Even when they were Heroes defying the authority of Lucien Fairfax, Sparrow was a wealthy man with properties scattered throughout the land. "Surely you must have somewhere more exclusive and commodious to one of such refined tastes as I?"
Sparrow again turned to his wife for advice. "Eleanor, what do you think? Is there anywhere more suitable to the tastes of a former Pirate King?"
"Hmm," she mused, "if he is apologetic for his repugnant behavior, we could allow him to stay at the castle for a short time?"
"You heard her," Sparrow growled. He increased pressure on Reaver's arm. Even if the Hero was immortal, Sparrow believed Reaver would still feel pain.
"I…am…s-sorry."
"You are forgiven." Eleanor projected her voice and added, "The King of Albion and I are more than willing to accommodate you, Reaver, and forgive you. You are welcome to our home."