The King and His Isabella
Chapter 7
Disclaimer: All twilight characters are not mine. Just the plot of the story.
"Two weeks at the least."
"You may have five days," Edward said sharply. "She is not to leave the medical quarters or have contact with anyone other than yourself and your nurses. If Jasper attempts to come near her, you will report him to me."
Carlisle glowered but nodded.
The king instructed one of his guards to stay and carry the girl to the infirmary before turning on his heel, his cloak billowing out behind him as he stalked off through the palace.
~~~~0o0o0o~~~~
Isabella's eyes fluttered open and, for a moment, she wondered whether she was in heaven. The sunlight was so bright, the room she was in so white, and every part of her body seemed bathed in a healing warmth... And then her wandering eyes found Carlisle's face.
The doctor smiled warmly down at her: "Good morning, Isabella."
The girl murmured in response.
"Here, have some water," Carlisle said, gently lifting her head so that she could drink from the cup he pressed to her lips.
Isabella gulped down the water greedily, draining the glass in seconds.
"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.
"Shhh, rest your voice," Carlisle admonished gently.
Isabella sighed deeply and nodded, thanking Carlisle with a wordless smile after he refilled the glass with more water and brought it for her.
"Isabella?" the doctor asked hesitantly after she finished drinking. "I have some questions for you."
"All right," the girl breathed. Even though her throat felt raw from screaming, Isabella was determined to answer all the doctor's questions.
"Don't speak, just nod or shake your head," he said with a sympathetic smile. "I just want to learn more about you."
Isabella nodded, thankful that she would not have to strain her voice any further.
"You told me that your tattoos were part of a Daarken ritual," Carlisle said.
The girl nodded, her gaze somber.
"I have only ever read about this ritual," the doctor said. "And, like most others in my profession, I only ever thought it to be a myth."
Isabella shook her head vigorously.
"I know, I know," Carlisle said earnestly. "I believe you, my dear."
Reassured, the girl sighed.
"But I can't even imagine what you must have endured for you to require that level of healing."
Isabella looked away, her bright eyes overcome with a shadow that seemed to come from inside.
"Do you know who hurt you?" Carlisle asked gently.
The girl nodded but did not turn her face back towards the old man.
"Do you know how you came to be in his power?"
Isabella shook her head.
"Do you know who you are?"
Another shake of her tousled, brunette head.
"Do you want to know?"
Isabella's sapphire eyes met his suddenly. The question in them was clear: Do you know?
"I do not know who you are," Carlisle said apologetically, his heart heavy as Isabella hung her head in disappointment.
"But," he continued, "I might be able to help you find out."
The girl looked up at him again, her deep blue eyes filled with hope.
"I have friends and contacts across the globe," he said. "If you let me transcribe your tattoos and sketch your likeness, perhaps someone in my circle will know who you are."
Grateful tears filled Isabella's eyes and she nodded, reaching out a hand for Carlisle to hold. She squeezed his hand and then lay back in bed, lifting her arms above the sheets so that the doctor could see her tattoos while she slept. Then the exhausted girl closed her azure eyes and drifted back into slumber.
~~~~0o0o0o~~~~
Carlisle shot out of his seat at the booted footsteps he heard approaching his infirmary. The old man glowered at the door as it was opened wide for the King of kings.
"What are you doing here?" He growled at Edward. "You promised my five days to heal her. She has barely had a day's rest."
"And five days you shall have," the king snarled in response, his temper rising to meet Carlisle's.
The doctor exhaled sharply as he sat back down at his desk: "What do you want then, Your Highness?"
Edward's nostrils flared at the blatant mockery in the Carlisle's tone but he managed to keep his rage in check.
"I am here for a story," he said.
"Her voice is hoarse from screaming, yet you would have her entertain you with stories?" Carlisle scowled.
"I can find another use for her if you'd prefer," Edward sneered.
"If you so much as lay a finger on her - "
"Carlisle!" Edward interrupted. "If you wish to keep your life, then I suggest you not finish that sentence."
The doctor snapped his mouth shut angrily.
"Lead me to the girl," he commanded.
Carlisle glared at the king as he motioned down the corridor: "She is in the last room on the left."
Edward gestured for his guards to remain with Carlisle and then stalked down the white-washed hallway. He threw open the curtain to Isabella's room and found himself captured immediately in the girl's sapphire stare.
"Hello gypsy," he murmured.
"Edward," she muttered.
"I am here for the rest of Qadir's story," he said, sitting down at the edge of her cot.
"So I heard," she said.
Carlisle had not been exaggerating when he said the girl's voice was strained from screaming. It almost hurt Edward to hear the way her words grated against the back of her throat... Almost.
Edward looked at the girl expectantly, waiting for her to pick up where she had left off.
"When you stopped, Mo was in the desert," he offered. "Qadir laughed because his camel, Noor, bit him."
"I know," she said simply.
Edward's brow furrowed when she said nothing.
"Well?" He asked agitatedly. "What happened next?"
"I can barely speak," the girl murmured. "I cannot tell you a story with my voice like this."
"I order you to," Edward said dangerously.
"Order me all you want," she whispered. "That will not change what I am physically capable of."
"I am being patient with you, gypsy," the king said. "I am giving you five days to recover."
"And I am grateful," she said quietly.
"Then you will finish the fucking story," he growled. "Now!"
"Come back tomorrow," Isabella said. "Tomorrow my voice will be rested."
"Tomorrow?" The King asked incredulously.
"Tomorrow," she nodded. "And I promise, you will get your story."
Edward was in a foul temper. The girl had given him an order and, even worse, he had obeyed.
"I walked out of that room like a chastised pet dog," he muttered to himself. "My tail between my fucking legs."
He paced the room agitatedly, too caught up in his own anger to even think about food or drink.
"Tomorrow," he snarled. "'Come back tomorrow', she said."
He stopped before the open window and stared out at the starry sky, massaging his forehead with one hand. Tomorrow seemed a very long way away.
Edward had not had a restful night since Irina woke him with a knife at his throat. The darkness seemed to crowd him, sending his wickedest instincts into a frenzy. He could feel those dark desires struggling against their chains like wild animals, pawing at the ground and howling at the moon, thirsting for freedom.
He scowled and turned his back to the night sky. He needed liquor and a woman. Possibly more than one... he felt a fire growing in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how he had taken Isabella the first time. His cock began to harden, straining against his trousers as he remembered how her whole body had quivered when he came inside her.
Edward wanted the gypsy's head impaled on his dick right then and there. He wanted the slut to gag on the length of his member and choke on his cum.
But, as much as he wanted the girl, he needed a willing whore tonight. He needed a seasoned slut to ride him. Edward fastened his cloak around his neck and pulled the hood over his head, obscuring his face in shadow. There was only one place to find the kind of woman he needed - an underground brothel on the outskirts of the city. It was kept secret to all but the most discreet of clientele. And, tonight, for the first time in many months, he would be one of them.
It was easy for Edward to sneak out of the palace: He was still as strong and agile as he had been as a younger man, and he knew the buildings and their grounds like the back of his hand. He climbed down the thick, creeping vines that grew outside the queen's bedroom window and disappeared into the unguarded gardens. The tree he and Jasper climbed as children was still the only one tall enough to stretch over the palace walls and he pulled himself up into its branches with a muffled grunt before following them over the rampart. He dropped to his feet outside the wall and then, after a hasty glance to be sure he was alone, took off into the night.
Edward slipped through the narrow alleyways of Persepolis like a shadow. The brothel was hidden beneath a decrepit house on the outskirts of the city. Perhaps some wild spirit took pleasure in the sinful den because, no matter how many times the desert threatened to consume it, the sand always seemed to keep at bay. If Edward were to be recognized out here, so close to the savage wilderness he had sent so many women to die in, the kingdom would probably never find all the pieces of his body. But the threat of death made the king's visits all the more exciting. Each time something moved in the shadows, Edward's stomach leapt and the rush of adrenaline set his heart pounding. The only thing he liked better than the dangerous journey was the reward that awaited him at its end.
By the time Edward reached the brothel his cock was struggling against the confines of his trousers once more. He walked into the abandoned house and knelt down a few steps inside, rapping sharply on the floor. A hidden trap door slid open - just wide enough for him to slip a bag of coins through - and then slammed shut again. A few moments passed while the guard counted the money and then the trapdoor slid open, this time wide enough for Edward to enter.
The guard nodded at the king as he descended the first few steps of the crooked wooden staircase before shutting the trapdoor and bolting it behind them. Edward waited in the darkness as the guard lit a lantern. Suddenly the wick caught and the passageway was illuminated. The guard edged past Edward and led him down the steep stairs. Finally the silent pair arrived at a thick wooden door. It opened slowly at a single knock from the guard. A pair of eunuchs nodded respectfully to Edward and then led him inside the luxuriant underground brothel.
Edward inhaled deeply as he was led through the carpeted corridor, taking in the scents of perfume, opium and incense that wafted through the air. From behind gauzy curtains, naked women sent coy smiles his way, flitting from their beds to gaze lustfully after him. The eunuchs stopped before a room guarded only by a heavy curtain. They held it open for Edward and then took their places outside the doorway.
The room was hazy with the musky smoke of burning incense and soft pillows were strewn across the carpeted floor. Edward pulled off his clothes, leaving them on the ground where they fell. He no longer had his hood to conceal his identity, but a mask had been laid out on the bed for him to cover his face. The mask was in the shape of a snarling wolf, its red tongue lolling out from between fanged teeth.
"Fitting," he muttered to himself before slipping the mask over his face.
The eye-holes offered him a more narrow view of the room. He walked away from the bed and settled down in the padded embrace of a large, low chair. Then he waited for the show to begin.
He did not have to wait long. Two girls suddenly peeked in from the doorway. They giggled at each other and entered slowly, giving Edward the chance to appraise them.
They were both very beautiful women his eyes raked over their bodies. One was darker than the other, her raven hair hung straight and long, and her voluptuous breasts were ornamented with mahogany nipples that begged to be bitten. The other's hair rippled down to her shoulders in brown waves, her breasts were smaller than the friend's and her nipples were small, pink rosebuds. The girls walked to stand in front of Edward and then began to touch each other, simpering at him as they rubbed their breasts together.
The king groaned slightly as girl with the smaller breasts leaned down and took one of her friend's nipples into her mouth - pulling it between her teeth until the second prostitute moaned in delight. Edward licked his lips as the girl moved her mouth to the other nipple, suckling and biting at it mercilessly.
The girl with the straight hair then pulled the other girl's face towards hers, engulfing that torturous mouth in a passionate kiss. As their tongues danced, the prostitutes' hands resumed their explorations, running lightly over each other's breasts and asses.
Finally the girls broke their kiss, they glanced at Edward's dripping member and then back to each other. They each giggled as they got down on their hands and knees and began crawling towards the king. Edward moaned as he felt their lips brushing against his feet and steeled himself from taking his cock in his hands. He gripped the arms of the chair harshly as the girls licked and nibbled and kissed their way up his calves.
He spread his legs wider as the girls reached his thighs, shifting himself lower so that his groin was off the chair. The prostitutes licked his inner thighs, making their way slowly towards his heavy balls and waiting member. One of the girls turned around, positioning her face under his balls. He hissed as she ran her tongue around his ballsack, licking at each of his testicles gently before taking them both into her mouth.
"Yeah, bitch," he whispered darkly, "lick my balls."
The girl responded enthusiastically, even running her tongue behind his balls, teasing his perineum with her mouth.
The other prostitute straddled her friend, rubbing her pussy against the other girl's stomach as she positioned herself to suck the king's dick. Edward closed his eyes and moaned as she began to lick his cock from base to crown, swirling her tongue around its leaking head and lapping up his precum. Then she took the whole thing in her mouth, swallowing every inch of his cock in eager gulps. Her nose brushed against his pelvis as she held his cock in her mouth, her muscles clenching around his dick as it hit the back of her throat.
The king felt pressure mounting in the pit of his stomach but he refused to cum so quickly. He reached out and pulled the girl sucking his cock to her feet by a fistful of her hair.
"Ride my cock, whore," he muttered breathlessly.
The girl smiled at him lustily and straightened her knees. As the other girl continued to lick and suck on Edward's balls, she lowered herself onto his dick. She cried out loudly as the king's thick cock filled her and began rocking her hips back and forth. The king moaned as his length moved inside her. He knew her cries of ecstasy were not real, but they did not detract from the feeling of her pussy as his cock slipped inside her.
He grabbed her hips and began to fuck her, moving his hips in time with hers so that each stroke seemed to go deeper and deeper inside her slim frame. The girl licking at his balls dropped her greedy mouth even lower, making Edward shudder in pleasure as her tongue darted around his asshole.
"Oh yes, that's it," he groaned, "lick my shithole, you filthy slut."
Sweat glistened on Edward's brow, dripping down behind the mask as he rammed into the girl on top of his dick even harder.
"Yes! Yes!" She cried. "Fuck me like the dirty whore I am! Ugh, yes!"
The king growled, loving the prostitute's self-deprecating words at the same time that he knew she was just saying what he wanted to hear.
He stopped suddenly: "Get off," he said.
The girl lifted herself off his member, moaning as it slid out from inside her.
"Get on your knees," he said.
Edward stood up and pulled the other girl to her knees so that the two prostitutes were facing each other.
"Kiss each other," he said, stroking his cock as they began to make out. "Can you taste my ass on her mouth, huh?"
The girls tongued each other fiercely, moaning as they licked each other's lips.
Edward pressed his dick against their mouths and then slipped it between them so that each one was kissing the side of his cock. He held their heads together as his cock thrust between their mouths. The girls fondled each other's breasts as he used their mouths and Edward came closer and closer to coming each time one of them plucked at the other's hardened nipples.
"I'm going to cum," he moaned suddenly. He pulled the girls apart and they opened their mouths for him. He grabbed his cock and began stroking it furiously, moving it from one girl's mouth to the other until he finally released his load across both of their faces. Jets of thick, white cum streaked the girl's smiling faces. He groaned and wiped the tip of his cock across one of the girl's upper lips and then sank down into the chair again, breathing heavily.
The girl with the straight hair flashed a coy smile at him and then began to lick the cum off the other prostitute's face, moaning each time she swallowed. When her friend's face was clean, the other girl returned the favor, lapping up the streaks of cum that latticed her cheeks. But, instead of swallowing, the girl kissed the other prostitute with her mouth full cum, letting the other girl share the rich liquid. Edward's breathing slowly returned to normal as the two whores swapped his cum between their mouths. When they had finally swallowed it all, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The girls laughed coyly and turned around, crawling away and out the door on their hands and knees, offering Edward a last look at their perfect asses.
The king sighed as the curtain swung closed behind the prostitutes. He took off the mask and breathed in deeply. He was spent but, somehow, not satisfied. He got dressed slowly, trying to figure out what was missing. He thought back to the prostitutes' performance but, as he recalled the girl moaning as she bounced on his cock, the face that came to mind was not hers but Isabella's.
Edward snarled angrily: Why is that bitch's face invading my every waking moment? He thought to himself.
Why is it her face I see when I make another woman cry out in pleasure?
The king stormed out of the room in a foul temper. The eunuchs trailed behind him silently, making sure he was escorted out of the brothel's main keep. The door shut behind him and Edward stalked through the darkness until he came to the stairwell, almost tripping over the first step. He breathed in sharply to keep from cursing at the pain in his shin and cautiously felt his way up the stairs. The guard opened the trapdoor for him as he approached and moonlight flooded the dark passage, giving Edward the light he needed to ascend the rest of the way safely. Edward climbed out of the trapdoor into the decrepit house, sighing almost sadly as he heard the door slide shut again behind him.
This was the part of the journey he liked least: The long, lonely walk home.
~~~~0o0o0o~~~~
Isabella seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time since she fell into Edward's hands. Her slim frame was held softly in the moon's pale embrace and her chest rose and fell gently as she breathed. But the girl's serene countenance was as much of a mask as the one Edward was placing on his face at the exact same moment, for it revealed nothing of the restless dreams haunting her.
It is dark where she is. Dark and dank.
Fetid water pools around her, sloshing gently with the rhythmic pitch and yaw of the vessel. Is it dark because there is no light down here in the belly of the beast? Surely some mischievous ray of light could steal its way through the rotting oakum and soaking planks to light up even an inch of the pitchy brig... She cannot see her own hands, even as she holds them inches from her face.
Thunder cracks. The ship dances. She can hear its old wooden bones creaking, feel the timbers shivering. But where is the lightning?
A thousand years pass in the darkness. Or maybe just a day. Rough hands haul her up, up through the cavernous bowels of the creature. Charybdis. That is her name. A snarling siren is lashed to the bow, her open mouth spitting sea-spray each time the vessel heaves to. Red pennants at the mastheads warn that defiance will end in blood. No prisoners taken, no prisoners conceded.
She is above deck. The salty, sultry breeze kisses her cheeks and sends the sails a-shaking. But where is the sun?
His face looms above her and she can see nothing else.
The roiling sea seems to hiss his name. Is it friends with this wicked ship, or enemies? Perhaps the ocean is afraid of what the Devil might do if she swallows him. Even mighty Death seems to tremble to take this man.
He is just a man, is he not? A man whose skin has been turned to leather under the merciless glare of the sun. A man whose body has been ripped to pieces again and again in battle and rest stitched each time by his own hand. A man whose eyes are as dark and pitiless as those of a shark, void of emotion, save for when they glow lustily in the thick of the fray. He feels neither cold nor heat, neither sadness nor happiness, neither pleasure nor pain. He takes no real joy in the notoriety his savagery has earned him. He finds no comfort in the riches with which he has furnished his cabin. He is consumed by bloodlust and wanderlust and he spends every waking hour trying to quench his thirst for death and adventure.
He addresses her. Not by name. If he knows it, he has never called her by it.
Those calloused hands wrench her to her feet, dragging her towards his cabin.
More darkness. But only one pair of hands.
His mouth is against her throat. His teeth graze against her neck with each heady breath he takes. All she can smell is him. He stinks of rum and salt and cannon smoke. She clamps her eyes shut as he shudders.
The water is almost black. She stares out at the endless expanse of sea and sky, wondering where in the grey they meet.
There is laughter at her back. That pair of bloodstained hands suddenly shoots out and pushes her over the edge. She tries to scream but no sound comes out of her mouth. The frigid water rises to meet her, swallowing her whole.
The sea stings her eyes and her nose as it drags her mercilessly down into its cold embrace.
And then her eyes open and the sun is blinding. The salt-crusted planks of the deck burn beneath her outstretched limbs.
There is a victory celebration on the main deck tonight. The musicians are pounding on their drums. The crew dances in the moonlight, their shadows leaping like fiends across the ship. They have not even bothered to sweep away the sand that kept their feet from slipping on the deck when it was slick with blood. Someone grabs her from the shadows, forcing her into the middle of the drunken frenzy with the gleaming blade of his cutlass. A hand wraps around her waist as someone pulls her into a dance. The ship whirls around her and the faces of the men blur together. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, she sees his face. His eyes are narrowed, his upper lip curling in a contemptuous snarl.
He slams the door to his cabin open and she shivers in the corner. His boots leave a trail of bloody footprints across the floor. He sweeps his arms across his desk, sending its contents crashing to the floor. Nautical charts flutter slowly to the ground as he turns around. He leans against the empty desk, panting. He sees her. The anger in his eyes flames brighter.
"The fuck are you looking at?" He growls.
She looks down. He walks towards her slowly, the heels of his boots dragging against the floor.
"I haven't got my money's worth out of you yet, whore," he says. She does not need to look up to know that he is smirking. She can hear it in his voice.
His fingers graze her chin, lifting her face to meet his. The gleam in his dark eyes sets her stomach churning.
"You cost me my greatest victory," he hisses. "I had Charles on his knees. And then you went and fucked it all up."
None of what he says makes sense to her. Why can't she remember who she was or what she had done?
"What did you tell him in that letter?" He snarls, his ragged fingernails digging into her face.
She shakes her head as best she can. She cannot remember.
"You're such a stupid cunt," he growls. "Your head so full with grand ideas of virtue and honor and patriotic self-sacrifice..."
He leers down at her. She suddenly realizes that she is naked. Bruises cover her arms, her legs are sticky with sweat and semen. His other hand whispers across her breasts and her nipples harden instinctively.
"Where is your honor now? Huh? Where's your virtue, you cock-hungry whore?" He taunts. "Do you think Charles would want you back now? Now that you've had every whole stuffed full with sailor's cum?"
Bitter tears sting her eyes.
"I can just imagine it," he smiles, painting her a vivid picture with his words. "The way he'll recoil from you in disgust when he sees the cum-stained slut you've become."
He holds her down with a heavy hand on her shoulder as he thrusts a finger inside her sex, laughing as she struggles to escape his vicious grip.
"Until I get what you owe me, you're mine, you filthy whore," he says, slowly fucking her with his fingers.
He leans in towards her, burying his face in her neck: "All. Mine."
~~~~0o0o0o~~~~
HI Friends!
I thought it was good to end the chapter there. A little nightmare and a bit of a look at Isabella's past.
Again guys, I want to thank everyone who had come this far with me. The people who favorite, followed and reviewed this story. I know the story has a theme that is not at all easy for everyone and I know people are hating on Edward (as everyone should) however there's a reason for every chapter and word and I hope by the time this story ends everyone will understand.
I got a lot of PM's and reviews asking me to say if this is a Jasper/ Isabella pairing or Edward/Isabella pairing and I really want to say but it will ruin the suspense of the story and I hope you guys understand. The only thing I can say is that this is not an easy journey and in the end I hope everyone will agree with the pairing as everything that happens in the story has a purpose. Down to the last scene. :D
Again, reviews are all seen and cherished. I'm sorry if I haven't replied to all but don't worry as I am creating a Facebook page so we can all hang and chat. It will be ready by next week.
Anyway, I'll cut the note here and I'll see you all next time.
XOXO Kate :D