Chapter 6

Evil-Lyn's bedchamber was both more and less feminine than he had expected. After her audience chamber and her choice of clothing for him, it was also less purple than he'd anticipated. His legs were trembling and he could barely stand, but when she told him to lay on her bed, he threw her a mute look of disbelief.

"I could just levitate you into position," she said. He shook his head in disgust, finally just refusing to move. A moment later he discovered that he adamantly disliked the feeling of being levitated. She let him drop to the bed from a foot up and he bounced a few times, remaining otherwise motionless.

"I'm not sure there's any point to this any more, Evil-Lyn," he said tiredly. "If I fall asleep, you'll just be annoyed."

"Oh, dear, are you tired?" she asked, her voice bright and falsely cheerful. "I can take care of that."

He turned horrified eyes on her as she pointed her staff at him. "No!" he exclaimed as the bolt of energy infused him, filling him with renewed vigor.

"See, it's an easy problem to solve." She sat down on the bed beside him. "Admittedly, this sort of thing can become addictive, but I don't think we'll have to do it very often. You have remarkable stamina."

"Thanks, I think," Duncan muttered, glaring at her, as she cuddled close to him and started nuzzling his neck. She curled close and threw a leg over his. A moment later, he realized that she had fallen asleep. Evidently, she'd needed a bolt of that energy herself. He was just thankful she hadn't realized it before conking out. She hadn't yet dismissed the power in the oil that she'd slathered him with. The skin on his legs where she was touching him sent little zings of heat to his groin, but he thought he could handle it. Then she stretched further and threw her arm across him, using his chest for a pillow. He closed his eyes. This was not happening. This could not be happening.

He finally drifted off, not very deeply, and had incredibly sensuous dreams, all featuring Evil-Lyn. In one particularly vivid dream, he thrust into the pliant woman beneath and she awoke with a squeal, her hands going to his shoulders where she gripped him tightly. He thrust rhythmically and she began to move with him, her legs coiling around his hips. When he kissed her passionately, her hands stroked up and down his back in time with their movement. He arched with pleasure at her touch and began to pump faster, burying his face in her neck, sucking and biting the tender skin there. She moaned in exhilaration as the rhythm grew faster, and began nibbling on his ear.

As he orgasmed, clutching her to him, the dream ended and he came to the sudden realization that he hadn't been dreaming at all. Evil-Lyn's legs were wrapped around him and she was moaning in his ear. He froze, horrified. She gradually noticed that he had stopped moving and reached up to stroke his face. "What's wrong, lover?" she asked. "That was amazing."

He pushed himself back away from her but found he could not escape her clutching legs. "Let go of me!" he yelled.

"Why?" she asked. "This time it was your idea." She reached up to his chest, stroking her hands along the still sensitized skin there and down his abdomen. He felt his body quicken and to his dismay he found that he was soon going to be ready again.

"I was asleep. I didn't know what I was doing!"

"I beg to differ."

"What have you done to me, woman?" he demanded. "Let me loose."

"Give in to it, Duncan. There's no point in resisting." Her hands trailed down his thighs and he closed his eyes, groaning at the sensations she was causing.

"I won't," he said firmly. "I will not."

Her legs tightened around him, pulling him closer and he suddenly found himself rolled onto his back. "Well, if you won't, I will," she declared, engaging in a suddenly flurry of kissing and nipping across his neck and chest. Automatically, desperately, he grabbed her arms to push her away and wound up holding her close. She smiled at him and gently disengaged herself from his clutching hands. Sitting up, she lowered herself onto him and ground against him till he couldn't stand it, but he still could not move. Finally, in a burst of poisoned pleasure, it was over and she rolled off him to lay panting on the bed beside him.

"Why would you deny yourself this?" she asked him between breaths. He growled, unable to respond. She sat up and laughed. "Oh, dear." She reached around him, causing him to groan as her body brushed up against his. She released both spells at once, and he relaxed as his body returned to normal. But she didn't release her arm around him. "Answer me, Duncan, why would you deny this pleasure to yourself?"

"Let me up," he said.

"Answer my question and maybe I will."

"You won't like my answer," he said. She shrugged and remained where she was. "I don't love you."

She looked at him incredulously for a few seconds, then she said, "That's it? You don't love me?" Shaking her head, she sat back. "So what?"

"If you don't know, I don't know how I'd explain it to you." He got up and looked around. "Is there a bath chamber in here somewhere?"
"There's got to be something more than that, Duncan. You're a soldier, surely you've lain with at least one woman you didn't love."

He turned on her. "All right, you want more? You work for Skeletor. He was bad enough when he was Keldor, a greedy, power-hungry scoundrel who didn't care what he had to do to get what he wanted. Now he's Skeletor, a vindictive, sadistic madman who enjoys hurting people."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that does about cover it. And I repeat, so?"

He threw his hands up in the air. "What can I say? I could never spend any amount of time happily with someone who goes around hurting people to get their jollies."

"I don't require that you be happy, Duncan. Just that you be here when I want you."

"Could you please direct me to your privy?" he demanded.

Smiling slightly, she pointed at a door and he went through it, trailing the leash behind him.

When he emerged she was dressed in some kind of flowing robe and was filing her nails. He had taken the time to bathe and he looked pointedly at her when she glanced up. Reaching out lazily, she pointed her staff at him and the clothes sprang into existence around him. He looked down to find that he was wearing skin-tight trousers of charcoal gray leather and a flowing shirt of purple silk.

"What is this?"

"Very fetching, but I don't think so." She tilted her head thoughtfully, then pointed her staff at him again. The purple and gray was replaced by He-Man's harness and fur loincloth. He looked down at himself with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

"No," he said firmly. "You might as well activate that third glyph right now, because I'm not going to that workshop dressed like this."

Her lips twisted and she let out a peal of laughter. "No, I suppose not. It doesn't really suit you, either. I guess it only works for big, blond and dumb."

"He's not dumb!"

"Oh? Have it your way." She pointed the staff at him and said, "How about royal regalia?" The power whooshed around him again and he looked down to find himself in Randor's clothing.

"I don't think so," he muttered. "I look ridiculous."

"Oh, I don't know. You have an air of kingly dignity about you."

"Evil-Lyn!"

"All right." She tapped her cheek, looking thoughtful.

"I do believe we're expected somewhere soon."

"You know, Duncan, this conversation sounds rather like an old married couple. Quite the quaint little domestic scene. Me choosing what you'll wear, you complaining we'll be late. And you were so attentive this morning."

"I don't know how you affected my dreams, but –"

"I did nothing to your dreams. That was all you, lover."

He shuddered and turned away. "I hope you don't mind my mentioning it, but Skeletor seemed quite prepared to do away with me last night. I don't think his temper will be improved if I'm late."

"Don't be such a spoilsport." She sighed and pointed the staff at him yet again. He looked down to find that he was wearing something that resembled his own clothing, minus the armor and the boots. He looked up at her. "There are benefits to making me happy." She got up and disappeared into the bathing chamber. "I'll be out in a minute."

Duncan sat down heavily in a chair. The leash wasn't gone, he noticed. He sighed deeply.

Evil-Lyn was out in mere moments, leading him to suspect that she dressed herself as she dressed him, by magic. They returned to the workshop where he went straight to work under the watchful eyes of Tri-Klops. Evil-Lyn disposed herself in her chair carefully, clearly placing herself on view. Duncan turned his back on her. As he reached for the tools, he noticed that Tri-Klops was staring at the witch, and he glanced at her to see what he was looking at. When he saw her neck, he quickly averted his eyes. Apparently, in his dream-induced ardor this morning, he'd left several cherry-colored marks on the skin there. He must have been dazed with sleep until now, because he hadn't noticed them before, though they stood out sharply against the pallor of her skin.

And it seemed that, for whatever reason, Tri-Klops didn't approve. Devoutly hoping that Tri-Klops wasn't harboring some unrequited passion for Evil-Lyn, he shifted uncomfortably, glad that his shirt, at least, had a high collar. Professional rivalry alone had been enough to induce Tri-Klops to murder.

Every time he had to spend even a few moments with his back to the three-eyed villain, Duncan felt an itch start between his shoulder blades.

Around noon, Evil-Lyn stood up from her chair and announced, "Lunch time."

"So?" growled Tri-Klops. Duncan looked up, only noticing that he was hungry because she'd said something. It was absorbing, this building a machine as slowly as one could.

"So, it's time for good little engineers to eat."

"Then send for some food, Evil-Lyn, and shut up."

She raised her eyebrows at her colleague and Duncan expected her to zap him, but she merely smiled and said, "Why don't you go out and get yourself some food, Tri-Klops?"

"What do you mean?" he demanded, staring at her in bafflement. Duncan turned and looked back down at the pieces he was assembling, very much afraid that he knew exactly what she had in mind.

"The operative word, Tri-Klops, is 'out.'"

Grumbling and glaring at Duncan, he left the workshop. "If you want him to kill me, you've hit on a good strategy," Duncan said mildly.

"Oh, he won't kill you. It would irritate Skeletor, and he's leery of that right now."

"He certainly tried hard yesterday."

"Yes, but that was in the heat of the moment. As long as I'm here, you're safe, Duncan dear." She walked up and tapped him lightly on the nose.

"That's a matter of opinion," he muttered, turning back to his work.

She walked up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. He tensed, but kept working, trying to ignore her presence. She slowly slid her hands down his arms, and when she reached his forearms she started pulling back. His left hand was holding a part of the machine, which he was forced to let go of, and, resigned, he dropped the wrench to the workbench. She drew his hands together behind him, kissed his palms, then with a wisp of a spell, bound them together.

"Here?" he asked incredulously.

"Where better? You're here, I'm here."

"I could leave."

She turned him and looked into his eyes. "You really ought to give over this pretending you don't want me, Duncan. Do people lie in their sleep?" He looked at the wall beyond her, refusing to even consider her question. She shrugged and caught hold of the leash, drawing him with her towards a low bench against the wall. She pulled it out so that it was perpendicular to the wall and made him sit down with his legs on either side. Walking around behind him, she placed a cloth around his head, over his eyes.

"What the –?" he exclaimed. She placed her hand lightly on his lips.

"Hush, lover," she murmured in his ear. He felt the rush of power as she stripped his clothes away again.

"Not here!" he protested. "What if someone came in?"

"What difference does that make?" she asked, her voice low with excitement. "If I don't mind, why should you?"

He could hear her footsteps on the stone floor, but he was having trouble locating her exactly as she moved around the room. Suddenly, she sat down in front of him, her legs draped over his, her body pressed close against his. She, too, was naked, and he quailed at the thought of rescue coming now, as she kissed her way across his chest and onto his shoulders.

Her hands explored his back and his buttocks, and quickly discovered where his skin was naturally most sensitive. He tried to stand up, to back away, but her weight atop his legs combined with the bound hands made that difficult. She ran her hands down his arms to the binding on his wrists, loosened it, then leaned him back on the bench and refastened them beneath the bench. This left her stretched out along the length of his torso, and she lay there a moment, sucking on his left nipple. Gritting his teeth failed to hold back the groan this elicited, and she chuckled richly.

"Try to pretend you're not enjoying this, Duncan, I dare you," she murmured. He was breathing deeply, trying to control his response, but his self-discipline was failing. As she let her hands roam across his body, he could feel himself begin to respond despite their public location, despite his general hatred of the situation, despite his loathing of her.

On this occasion she aroused him quickly, took her pleasure, then draped herself across his body. "Are you hungry, lover?" she asked, tracing shapes on the left side of his chest with her right forefinger.

"Yes," he said, wishing he weren't blindfolded. There was something about being tied naked and blindfolded to a bench in the workshop of a man who had already proven his desire to kill him that made Duncan feel insecure. Especially after that little display of what might have been jealousy this morning.

She let out a little sigh. "I suppose I should feed you," she said, sitting up.

"I can feed myself, thank you," he said with as much dignity as he could muster in this humiliating position.

"I actually meant that I should provide you with food, my darling Duncan. If you would prefer to be fed, however. . ." She let her voice trail off as she ran her hands across his chest.

"No!" he growled.

She laughed and snapped her fingers, releasing his hands, and, as he sat up rubbing his wrists, he felt the rush of energy as it created clothing around him. He reached up to remove the blindfold, but she was suddenly behind him again, and caught his hands, pulling them behind him once more to magically bind them.

"What are you doing now?"

"I'm going to feed you, lover." He dropped his chin to his chest, frustrated beyond the ability to form words. This was ridiculous. She tucked a finger under his chin and pulled his face up. "Come now, my dear. You need to eat. What does it hurt to play along?"

He took several deep breaths. He did need to eat, and she was perfectly capable of denying him food if he didn't please her. The part of him that knew he would survive one missed meal warred with the part of him that knew he should avoid antagonizing his captor whenever possible. Humiliation could be endured.

"Fine," he said, grinding the word out past his reluctance.

She sat down across from him, suddenly holding a plate of some sort between them and started popping tidbits of food into his mouth, periodically giving him something to drink as well. He reflected that of all the activities he'd endured at her hands, this was among the most bearable.

When the door opened, Duncan stiffened. Unable to see who was entering, he had all sorts of horrible visions. What would Randor think if he came in and saw him like this? If it were Skeletor, would he be angry? And with whom?

"What are you doing?" Tri-Klops demanded, anger filling his voice. Duncan sat motionless, thankful that he'd never been one to blush. Either Randor or Adam would be beet-red by now. That thought brought images cascading through his mind that he didn't need, not if he were to remain calm. Breathing deeply, he strove to banish the horror show.

"A training exercise," Evil-Lyn explained calmly, distracting Duncan quite nicely as fury mingled with mortification coursed through his veins. "We're not done. You can come back in an hour."

"Skeletor expects this machine to be built quickly."

Evil-Lyn's voice sharpened. "Skeletor knows all about this, Tri-Klops, and approves. If you have an objection, take it up with him." There was a brief pause and then the door clanged shut. What was going on here? Skeletor knew? A training exercise? Training him for what? To do what? Right now it felt rather like obedience training. He shuddered. "Oh, Duncan, are you all right?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice. She kissed him lightly on the lips and he clenched his teeth. "Now, where were we?" she asked, stroking his cheek with a finger. "I believe we have almost reached dessert."

He stood up abruptly, and walked away, though he only went a few steps because he couldn't tell where he was going.

A few moments of concentration had banished the emotional upheaval. "If you really want me to stay, why are you humiliating me in front of your colleagues?" he asked in a neutral tone.

"Haven't you noticed? That's the norm around here. Each of them struggles to keep the others down while calling Skeletor's attention. It's really rather like a family, everyone seeking daddy's approval."

"Each of them?"

"I don't care if I get Skeletor's approval," Evil-Lyn protested defensively. "I just don't want his anger. It's so unproductive."

"Anger tends to be," he agreed. "Though I cannot imagine that man as your father."

"Oh, no. He's nothing like my father."

Duncan raised his eyebrows, and turned his head, irritated by his inability to see the expression on her face. She fell silent, then, and he decided that nothing more would be forthcoming on that topic. He took a deep breath, unsure precisely how she would react to his next question. "So, are you aware of Tri-Klops interest in you?"

She was quiet for a moment, then she said, "Why, are you jealous?"

"No, it's not that. I'm looking to my survival. Does he have some claim on you?"

She spoke and the glyph at the base of his spine activated briefly, sending pain shooting through every nerve. He dropped to his knees, hunched over and when he pain stopped, he didn't move. "No one has any claim on me!" she said in icy tones.

He wasn't sure if she wanted a response to that statement, so he opted for silence.

"Now, come here and sit down like a good boy." He didn't move. He didn't want to be anywhere near her. She spoke again, and this time the pain lasted longer. He fell onto his side and curled into a fetal ball, his shoulders aching from the way the spasms twisted his muscles. "Duncan, come here," she said in a low, persuasive voice. He rolled himself around to a sitting position and sat stubbornly, chin raised, teeth clenched against the punishment he knew was coming. She didn't disappoint him. He heard his voice as he screamed in agony, and he felt himself hit the floor.

He awoke to the sensation of a cold cloth being draped across his forehead. Blinking, he started to sit up, wondering where he could possibly be. "Lie back, dear," Evil-Lyn said solicitously, pressing gently on his shoulders. He looked up to see that they were in her room, and he was lying on her bed. "How'd we get back here?"

She shrugged. "Does your head hurt at all?" She wasn't wearing her headdress or the enormous collar, and her arms were bare.

"A little. What did you expect?"

"You are one exasperatingly stubborn man." She plumped a pillow and said, "Sit up a little." He complied, unable to puzzle out if this was a bizarre dream or if it was really happening. She slid herself and the pillow beneath him and picked up a small bottle of an orange oil off the bedside table.

As she put it on her hands and prepared to rub his temples, he stiffened. "No!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Duncan, this is a pain killer. It's primary ingredient is willow bark."

She touched her hands to the sides of his head, and when he didn't feel the sudden sensitization of his skin, he relaxed infinitesimally. It was impossible to relax completely with his head in Evil-Lyn's lap. Massaging his temples gently, she said, "You need to stop fighting me, Duncan. You can't win. You can't fight back effectively, and you can't leave. All you're doing is hurting yourself for no reason."

"I disagree."

"What possible reason could you have?"

"I don't want to stay here," he said simply.

"Is the bed uncomfortable?"

"Don't be deliberately dense, Evil-Lyn. I don't want to stay at Snake Mountain. I don't want to stay with you."

She sighed with an odd look in her eyes. "That will change in time."

The analgesic was having a soporific effect, and combined with the gentle rubbing of his temples, it was sending him to sleep. Struggling to stay awake, he said, "You don't make much sense."

"How so?"

"You torture me with intense pain, then give me pain killers. Doesn't that seem a little inconsistent?"

She sighed again. "I wish you'd stop forcing me to hurt you. I don't like it, you know."

"Then stop."

"Stop being stubborn and I might be able to," she said in soft, persuasive tones. "Just give in, Duncan. You'll be happier."

He couldn't argue with her effectively with his eyes drooping closed, and he didn't have the energy to move. "I'm falling asleep. Shouldn't we get back to the workshop?"

"Tri-Klops isn't expecting you back at work for another forty minutes. You can have a little nap." He sighed and fell asleep.

Adam was frustrated. He'd managed, after much persuasion, to get Orko to agree to his plan, but today he'd had no opportunity to carry it out. It was as if his father knew that he was going to go after Duncan himself and was taking steps.

The king had stopped by his room that morning, waking him up, and told him to get ready to give a briefing on the Hand of Umalar to the masters. The briefing had dragged on for hours, with everyone asking questions, some intelligent, some idiotic. Adam had barely resisted being sarcastic to Ram-Man when he asked how they could be sure she wasn't nice. He'd had to go through every step of his reasoning, and persuading some of them to take a fairy tale seriously hadn't been easy.

Then his mother had insisted on his taking lunch with her. His protests that he wasn't hungry and that he couldn't think about food with Duncan held at Snake Mountain and Skeletor trying to awaken an evil priestess had fallen on deaf ears. "Then you'll need to be at your best, won't you, Adam?" she had asked.

After lunch, his father had sent him to spar with Teela, who needed to be kept busy so she wouldn't do something foolish. If he ran out on that, they'd never forgive him. His suspicions that Randor was getting them to keep each other busy were confirmed when he noticed that one of the masters always seemed to be nearby.

Dinner at court that night seemed to drag on for hours, and when he finally got back upstairs to his tower room he was ready to scream with frustration. Quickly, he gathered the things he thought he'd need, put them in a bundle and threw open his window.

"Good evening, Prince Adam!" Adam leaned out the window and looked up, surprised to see Stratos sitting on the roof above.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Stratos gave him an innocent look and said, "Just getting a bit of night air."

Adam nodded. "Me too," he lied, letting his bundle drop to the floor. His father had thought of everything. He wondered if Teela was as thoroughly hemmed in.

Please let me know what you think. I know it's not the most comfotable subject matter, but this isn't the whole of the story, I promise. Feedback is marvelously encouraging.