Hi! I wanted to say that I chose to cut the 3 chapters in smaller parts, so this is the first part of chapter 2.

This is the most explicit chapter of all. Very explicit so read it at your own risk. It's very violent too. But not vulgar I hope. Remember to read the notes at the end!

About Thomas/Tamara's age. In the book Thomas is crowned king at 12, but I hope I've made clear that Tamara is older: she's 12 when Flagg kiss her in the secret passage and "some years later" Peter see them together in the park. I leave her exact age to your discretion.

Lastly, I chose to jump straight to the crowning, cutting off king Roland's poisoning and Peter' trial and incarceration.

2. I

Nobody can imagine the desperation princess Tamara was feeling as the fever made her burn and the news of her brother's trial and incarceration reached her. The fever made her alternatively burn and shiver and her sleep was troubled by nightmares where her father and brother were the main characters. Moreover the idea of what He would do to her should he discover what she had witnessed that night tormented her while awake and made her moan and sob in terror.

Her despondency was caused more by her mental state than her physical state by the time Flagg came to her bedside the morning of the day of her coronation, resolved to make her ask for his help. He thought her in his power, thought her so scared of what was awaiting her that she would beg him to stay, offering him the position of First Advisor.

Tamara was crying and her tears shone on her pasty cheeks. Flagg, in his contempt for that show of weakness, couldn't even imagine how she, in that very moment, was safeguarding in her mind the secret that could dismantle centuries of evil plotting.

- I believe this is a goodbye forever, Tammy.

He grabbed the walking stick he had propped against her bed. He was smiling outwards but inside he was seething because she had yet to ask him to stay.

He turned as if to go when he felt her pull at his cloak. She was gripping it tightly and her knuckles were white for the strength she was using.

- Please, don't leave me, not now, please…

He sat back on the bed and bent on her.

- I can't stay, how could I? I was the king's sorcerer and now the king is dead.

- You could be whoever you want but don't leave me: I shall give you whatever you want!

Flagg chose to let her implore a little more so he shook his head and sighed as if refusing.

Tamara paled even more. She had just lost her father and her brother and now the only person in the world who had ever showed her some fondness was going away when she needed him the most. She didn't thought of her suspicions about his role in her father's death: she couldn't report him, he was everything for her, only now she understood it. She decided to sacrifice her own brother to defend him because she loved him of a love born of loneliness and with a last surge of desperation she tried to hold him by her side offering everything she had: herself.

She grasped his cloak collar and pulled, in part to lift herself from the pillows, in part to pull him down to her level. She pushed back his hood, uncovering for the first time his head and, as he widened his eyes in shock, she sunk her fingers in his black hair and pressed her lips to his.

Flagg was flabbergasted. How could he have anticipated such a reaction? He let out an unbelieving gasp while Tamara let go of his hair to cling to his neck, embracing him passionately and only the covers tangled around her legs prevented her from climbing in his lap. The wizard's hands were hovering over the princess' shoulders, ready to fling her away but instead they were opening and closing in fists, uncertainly. In the end Flagg came to a resolution, he closed his eyes and it was as if something inside him blossomed. He felt his lower abdomen on fire, as if filled by boiling lava, and a kind of dark predatory passion took hold of him. A part of him that had been left unused for centuries woke up and he felt himself harden in a nearly painful way. Flagg moaned for the pleasure the pain was giving him. His arms wrapped around the girl who had so unwisely roused that side of him. He drew her to him, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, tasting the tears that were still soaking her cheeks and lips.

Tamara found herself crushed against her bed sheets as the sorcerer kissed her in a way she never believed possible. His tongue was moving inside her mouth, making her unable to breathe properly and scaring her greatly but the idea of rejecting him scared her even more and therefore she tightened her hug, choosing to ignore her instincts that were screaming at her to push him away and call for help.

Flagg climbed on the bed, pushing aside frenetically the covers separating him from the girl. Tamara, instead of struggling and trying to get away, undone the brooch keeping his cloak closed and pushed it from his shoulders. For the first time in their acquaintance, the princess saw him without his trademark cloak and hood. He was wearing simple trousers and a black tunic with a leather belt from which some pouches and a short stiletto hung. The sorcerer backed off a little, just enough for her to unfasten his belt and let it slide on the floor. At that point Tamara stared at the man she invited in her bed. The skin of Flagg's face was pale and stretched over the bones, he had light winkles around his black bottomless eyes and thin lips that contributed making his expression terrifying and grave. Tamara couldn't know it but under the burning lust run an undercurrent of incredulity. He believed that the princess' boldness came mostly from ignorance; she probably had no idea of what was going to transpire. Like every girl her age and social standing she had been left totally in the dark about the activities of the marital bed and, however, no previous knowledge could have prepared her for him. Her willing collaboration fanned even more the fire inside him. He stared into her wide eyes that were full of fear, in spite of her actions. Those thoughts crossed his mind quickly, the time of a deep breath, the time Tamara needed to discover she didn't know what to do from there on and therefore she gripped his tunic and kissed him again. He took an important decision: the girl for some foolish and crazy reason wanted and trusted him and he was going to reward her by not destroying her. Wearing a determined expression he ripped in half her nightgown from neck to belly, gulping down her surprised gasp. He helped her out of the sleeves and she, although trembling, pushed away the ruined garment until she was left naked under him. Flagg disrobed quickly and trapped her under his body, pressing her against the bedsheet and preventing her from seeing, and fearing, that part of his anatomy that was soon going to pierce her.

Flagg was keeping her pinned with his gaze , his eyes were like the eyes of a poisonous snake and she couldn't think straight, not with all that pale skin on sight. She could feel his hard and unnaturally hot body stretched over hers and recalled the kiss he gave her, so many years before inside the secret room. It made her think about her father and her brother, about what was happening that very moment and what she was letting the sorcerer do to her. Her eyes filled again with tears that slipped along her cheeks to her pillow. The desperation, the loneliness, the guilt and her own inability to deal with the circumstances instead of urging her to have a change of mind, spurred her into clinging to him who had been the only steady point during her childhood, the object of her adolescence fascinations and the source of comfort during her whole life. She wrapped herself around him, hugging his waist, hiding her face between his shoulder and neck and encircling his hips with her legs, drawing him as near as possible. He went still with a rasping breath and Tamara felt something hard and stiff push against her most intimate parts. She started to sob in a mixture of fear, excitement and shame.

Flagg placed a hand over her mouth, at the same time clamping her jaw in a hard grip.

He bent his head to whisper in her ear.

- This is going to hurt a lot, Tammy.

Then he pushed himself into her, with some difficulty because she was an innocent and he hadn't readied her. He tore into her, hurting himself as well because she was too tight and dry and stopped only once totally sunk into her body. She was trapped between his bulk and the sheets drenched with her sweat and blood, screaming helplessly against his hand, wriggling to try to escape from the thing that had stabbed her with such violence. Flagg took some moments to enjoy the exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure at being inside the body of a woman after so much time, then he begun to retire from her to start to move. Tamara had thought the terrible pain she felt to have been the most horrible part of the experience, but as soon as he moved to exit her aching body it was even worst. Therefore she clamped her legs around his hips tighter still, making him go back inside and stopping his withdrawal. Her inside were on fire, but the pain that was a dull throbbing if he stayed still, become an acute and intolerable agony if he tried to move.

Flagg indulged her and kept still. He enjoyed the feeling of her trembling flash as it made space for his member, smelt the metallic scent of blood knowing it was going to ease his movements. Through the pleasure fogging his mind, some kind of pride was emerging: his girl, his Tamara, has stopped shouting and, even if she was still crying and trembling from the pain he was inflicting on her, she was clinging to him looking for comfort from the person hurting her. He took the right decision. He begun to rub their bodies together, small circular movements, getting out and back inside of her just a little to create the right kind of friction to pleasure himself.

He was moving and it hurt, it burned and she could smell the blood. She knew she would bleed her first time and that it would hurt but she had never imagined something like that. The small movements he was making started to make her feel something different from the pain. There, where he was inside her, it was still an agony but a little above it, where he was rubbing against her… it was nearly pleasing. It wasn't enough to overwhelm the pain but it helped, somehow, and it confused her too. How could it be possible? To feel pain and pleasure at the same time? Tossed between two sensations at the very end of the spectrum, she kept on cry and writhe but during all the time it took the sorcerer to peak and collapse on her, she never release her tight hold on him.

Flagg detached from her with some difficulties: her legs and arms were stiff and wouldn't let him go. He rolled on his side and looked at himself: he was flaccid and bloodied. Then he turned to look at Tamara. The princess was staring at the ceiling emotionless, her face red and wet with tears and perspiration. The sorcerer had a moment of uncertainty: it had been consensual and yet she had the same lost expression of the others.

- Tamara?

She turned her face toward him, her eyes cleared and focused on him. With a pitiful and needy moan she rolled on his chest, curling against his side. He hugged her with some relief: she wasn't broken.

- How do you feel, Tamara?

- It hurts!

She whined.

- It told you it would be so.

He replayed. After all, he did warn her.

- You aren't going away now, right? You aren't going to leave me, right?

She asked with a trembling and thin voice. He kissed her forehead and then he pushed her away, getting up and redressing himself quickly. He grimaced as he cleaned himself: the blood of virgins was rare and expensive but the sample was now contaminated. He probably took too much to answer her question because Tamara begun to hiccup and beg.

- No Tamara, of course not. How could I ever leave you?

He draped the cloak over his shoulders and went back to the princess' bedside. She was really a pitiful sight. Her skin was pastry, her eyes were red from crying too much and there was blood, perhaps too much blood, between her tights that were going to be covered in bruises soon from the strength which she clung to him with. He covered her with the sheet.

- Stay here, like a good little girl. I will go downstairs to the dungeons, to my workroom to get you an unguent against the pain.

He gave her a quick and violent kiss and then he disappeared silently, moving lightly like a ghost, using one of the secret passages.

Tamara put a trembling hand between her legs and her fingers become coated in blood and that strange, slimy liquid he left inside of her. She felt faint and nauseous. Her flash was torn but he said he went to get an unguent: all she had to do was to wait for his return and he would fix everything that was wrong. She was still unbelieving for what transpired, she didn't know what kind of madness or bravery took her and coaxed her into offering herself to Flagg. All she knew was that she was ruined. Her nanny had been clear about it: if you were to bed somebody before marriage then you were a fallen and ruined woman and no man would ever marry you. Tamara did feel ruined and dirty. Nobody had ever wanted her: not as a daughter, or princess, nor as a friend. Not as a wife for sure. Only him, only Flagg. The princess now feared he wouldn't want her anymore, she was spoiled good now and nobody wanted that. After all she had been the one throwing herself at him, he hadn't reached out for her. What if he wasn't going to want her anymore? What if he didn't want to touch her again? If she was to lose his friendship, if he was going to treat her with coldness or, even worst, veiled disgust, Tamara was sure she would die.

Fortunately he came back soon. Flagg poured some water on the basin she used to wash in the mornings, picked up from the floor her ruined nightgown and sat on the bedside.

- Lay on your back and spread your legs.

She obeyed, quivering in fear at the thought he wanted to take her again. Instead the sorcerer ripped the nightclothes into shreds and used them to wash the blood. Tamara bite her lower lip to prevent herself from screaming when he run the wet cloth between her legs.

- The pain is normal, the blood too.

He hesitated a moment.

- You don't have to fear a pregnancy.

Flagg dropped the stained rag in the reddish water and pulled out of his pocket a violet vial, uncorked it and poured the yellow oily liquid on his fingers. He seemed to hesitate again and then, staring fixedly into Tamara's eyes, he placed lightly and gently his hand on the juncture between her legs. He touched her with the care and the attention he usually reserved for his collection of poisons. Tamara had expected the unguent to burn horribly, like the unguents Flagg had used on her during her childhood, but instead she felt an immediate relief spreading over her: it was refreshing and numbing and Tamara relaxed with a sigh.

However Flagg didn't just spread the unguent on her aching flash but he begun to caress her, imitating with his fingers the movements he performed as he took her, avoiding the part of her he had penetrated and focusing his attention just above it. The unexpected pleasure she felt before, swept through her again, stronger now that the pain was gone. The princess found herself unable to master her own body: her legs spread wider to accommodate his hand, her heels drove into the bed and her back arched as her throat made sounds she didn't know she could make. The pleasure was sharp and centred there where before there has been only pain and it was spreading in weaves all over her body. She got goosebumps and felt the points of her breasts harden. Tamara opened the eyes she didn't even realised she had closed, in time to see the other hand of the sorcerer reaching out to grasp one of her breast and pinch the nipple. The pleasure become unbearable, similar to pain and with a prolonged moan she reached her first orgasm that left her gasping and limp under the sorcerer's hands. Flagg took advantage of her state to push some unguent inside her passage, there where she needed it the most.

He washed his hands in the bloodied water and then he coolly dried them with the remains of her nightgown. His face was expressionless under the hood. His lust had been sated momentarily, like a sleeping volcano awaiting the next earthquake to toss out death and fire. He watched with impatience mixed to an inexplicable anxiety the shivering princess. She was still damp with sweat and blood.

- In a couple of hours you'll be crowned. Stand up and begun to prepare, you don't want your maids to see you in such an embarrassing state.

She stared at him with mute incomprehension and he reached the limits of his patience. He grasped her arm and dragged her from the bed. Tamara hit the floor hard, moaning and gripping her belly as she started again to cry.

- For all that is unholy, are you crying again? On your feet, you fool, there is no time to wash, put something on.

He lifted and shook her. Finally she regained her equilibrium and with her free arm tried to cover her nudity. He shot her a disdainful sneer.

- I already saw what you have and believe me, it's not different from what every other woman has. Now…

He bend his head, hidden in the shadows of the hood, to get on level with the girl's confused face.

- … get dressed.

Then he dropped her on a chair and, seemly forgetting about her, he undo the beddings balling up the bloodied sheets along the ruined nightgown, making sure the red stains stayed inside the bundle. In the end he turned over the mattress to hide the last blood stain. When he looked back at her he noticed with some satisfaction that she at least had her underclothes on and was in the process to get into the petticoat.

- I'm letting the maids inside, perhaps they will be able to fix your hair and manage to make you look presentable.

Afterwards he marched out the princess' bedroom with the bundle of sheets under his arm. When one of the maid reached out to take it he gave her a terrible smile and told her the princess threw up the first potion he gave her to heal her from her illness and it was better if he was the one to deal with the stain. The maid pulled back quickly her outstretched hands, bowed and slithered inside the bedroom of the soon-to-be queen.

Flagg reached the dungeons without problems and without meeting any other zealous maids. He spread the sheets on his worktable, grabbed his silver scissors to cut a small square of cloth drenched with blood and stilled. Lost in thoughts he begun to caress the stained cotton, recalling what had just happened between Tamara and him. He become hard again as he thought back about the moment he penetrated her, the way she trembled, the coppery scent of blood and afterwards her surprising arousal. Without even being conscious of what he was doing, he bent over the table until his forehead touched the sheet, smelling it, while he let the scissors go and started to rub himself through the clothes and coming at the thought of her, imagining her withering in pleasure around his member as she had done around his finger. He was left gasping and incredulous: for more than three centuries he hadn't felt the need to gratify his flash and now he seated its appetites twice in the span of few hours. He has to be careful as not to lose control of the situation: he should be the one in charge and not his lust.

§§§

Finally even the last maid left and Tamara sighed in relief. She had screamed she wanted to be left alone, in a show of hysterics that in the following months would become familiar but that for now made the maids exit her rooms in outraged whispers, leaving their work halfway done.

The princess no, the queen was keeping up her untied dress with both her hands. She sat gracelessly on the chair in front of her vanity table and watched her image in the mirror. The maids made a great job that afternoon: her pallid cheeks had ben livened up with some rouge and her lips coloured with red lipstick, her hair had been brushed until they shone, the ruined ends hidden by the scooped up hairstyle where the crown had been placed. It was now on that table, placed on a velvet pillow.

With the make up, the hair done and a white new dress on, one prepared for her brother's coronation and hurriedly embroidered with pearls and diamonds to be fit for a queen, she had felt pretty for the first time in her life. But then came the ceremony that had been long and boring, and the banquet where she had been unable to eat, feeling nauseous, dirty and sweating and she was sure she had been bleeding again because she felt wet and cramps gave her no respite and therefore she chased away the maids because she feared they would see the blood and the bruises while helping her undress.

She got up and begun to undress mechanically, throwing her pretty new gown on the floor that a poor maid would pick up in the morning, creased. She lifted her petticoat and lowered the undergarments, moaning in dismay at the sight of the little blood stains. At least there was a lot less blood than she had thought. She hurriedly got out of the remaining cloths, leaving on only her camisole and her stockings and went to her bathing room to wash herself at the best of her possibilities, wishing for a hot bath and promising herself she was going to get one first thing in the morning.

Once she was done, she found Flagg awaiting for her in her bedroom. He was brushing lightly her shining crown, hood low on his face. Her heart jumped to her throat as fear and excitement warred for dominance inside her. Embarrassment won the fight. She blushed to the roots of her hair, trying fruitlessly to lower her camisole to cover herself but a good portion of her tights remained bare between the hem of her camisole and the garters holding up her silk stockings. For the first time she realized the sorcerer had never before entered her rooms while she was underdressed, in spite of the fact he was used to entering them at every hour of the day, and sometimes even of the night, using the castle secret passages he knew so well. She squeaked and then she finally found her voice.

- Turn around: I'm not dressed!

Instead of doing as she asked, he took a step towards her, bringing his hands to the hood and lowering it completely. He leered at her lustfully, eyeing her body and stopping to stare at her bosom and legs. He wetted his lips and rasped, without prying his gaze from her naked tights.

- Today you looked like a bride, my dove. Dressed in white and jewels. You were glowing. Do you know that they are calling you Tamara the Light-bringer?

He lifted his eyes and captured hers.

- But you and me… we know the truth. Under that image of purity there is a whore eager to spread her legs for me. I am right, am I not?

She flinched, astonished by his language: she had never before heard him utter a vulgar word; then the tears begun to spill from her eyes, slipping along her cheeks, ruining the make up, blinding her. She didn't see him moving quickly and silently, bridging the distance separating them.

- I thought we already discussed your penchant for tears, my dove.

He drew her to him, squeezing her buttock with one hand, pushing her pelvis against the erection that had kept him from sitting comfortably for the last hours while with his other hand he gripped her hair, throwing back her head and kissing her brutally.

After some moments, that to Tamara seemed endless, he let her go and pushed her in the bed direction, giving her a slap on the butt.

- Take off the camisole but keep on the stockings.

The queen sat on the bed edge, petrified as disbelief left to make room for the fear growing like the tide inside her. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact he wanted her again. She didn't know if she was to feel flattered by it or humiliated by his behaviour and the words he used to describe her. In the end she came to the conclusion he was right: she had behaved exactly as a woman with loose morals when she threw herself shamelessly at him that day. Of course he was treating her as one now.

While she sat there, dazed, the sorcerer undressed, keeping only his trousers on, and joined her on the bed. He reached for the hem of her camisole and lifted it, impatiently. Tamara raised her arms, letting him bare her, obeying out of habit more than out of want. He pushed her on the bedcovers but instead of climbing on top of her as she had feared, Flagg took his time to stare at her. There had been no time for embarrassment that morning when she gave herself to him, but now she felt violated by his scrutiny and keenly aware of her many physical deficiencies. She had no desire to lay again with him but at the same time she dreaded he would find her belly too fat, her breasts too small or her hips too wide.

However the sorcerer was liking what he was seeing. He thought her breasts the perfect size for his hands, they were young and firm and they were going to grow, filling deliciously his palms. He believed her soft belly and plump hips inviting and his mouth filled with drool at the idea of leaving bite marks on her upper tights. He felt a ravenous desire to mark her, bruise her with his hands and teeth and was frustrated by the knowledge he needed to be discreet and limit himself to the skin hidden by the clothes.

- Please, don't. I… I don't want to do it again. It still hurts.

The girls voice trembled, just as her hands were trembling while she tried to cover her breasts.

Flagg frowned, unhappy. He wanted to take her again, as he had wanted her that afternoon, when he had to prop her against his side, an arm around her waist, during her own coronation. He had been going slowly insane at the banquet, sitting at her side, seeing her smile without joy during the toasts and the congratulations from the merry crowd, knowing she had been unable to stand nor to sit still because she was still hurting from the way he took her that very morning. Now he wasn't going to let her reject him but he didn't want to use violence either, making her scream and drew the attention of a well-meaning maid. He wanted her to want him, as she had wanted him that morning, he wanted to feel again her fingers grip his hair and her arms hugging his neck as he forced his way inside her.

The sorcerer took hold of her wrists, pushing them away and trapping them over her head with one hand. Then, surprising Tamara once again, he brushed lightly her face with his free hand. With his fingertips he touched gently her lips, her neck, one breast and then the other and afterwards he went lower, between her legs, touching her as he did with the unguent. Tamara let out a moan that sounded like a sob when these long and warm fingers begun to caress her with deceptive kindness and care and the other hand let go of her wrists to move to one her breast, pinching her nipple, causing again that pleasure similar to pain. Flagg chuckled and left a trail of wet kisses on her neck, he nipped perhaps a bit too harder her shoulder and finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, he started to suck at her nipple, twisting between his fingers the other one. Tamara reacted uncontrollably: she arched her back with a moan impossible to stifle. She embraced the sorcerer, gripping his hair and keeping his face pressed against her breast while her pelvis pushed rhythmically against his hand. She felt no pain when he put a finger inside but only that pleasure she discovered with him for the first time and she had a moment of clarity in which she asked herself whether she had begun to bleed anew because she felt wet before losing all rational thoughts as she orgasmed. While she convulsed for the pleasure under him, Flagg lowered his trousers to his knees and entered her.

Tamara would have cried out if his hand hadn't silenced her quickly. This time the pleasure had been chased away brutally by the pain of penetration. Stuck speechless by the different feelings he made her felt Tamara overheard him whisper against her forehead that it was different with her and that she was his dove. The he begun to move as he had tried to do that morning, out and back in. This time Tamara knew what was happening and was relived to discover that the pain was bearable. He was hurting her and it burned but not as much as before. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he let her mouth go to grope at her breast while he lifted her knee with the other, encouraging her to widen her leg more. The girl bit on her lower lips to smother her sounds of pain but some pitiful sounding moans escaped her and they, instead of discourage him, prompted him to go faster and deeper. She laid her sweating forehead on his chest, closed her eyes tightly hoping it would be over quickly and unconsciously she drove her blunt and short nails on his shoulder blades. He gave a violent thrust, gasped and crumpled over her. He stayed still for a while, recovering his breath as he become smaller and slipped out of her.

Then he rested on his elbows and grinned at her, a toothy, wolfish grin.

- Did you see? In the end you did exactly as I've asked you. As I said, you were eager to spread your legs for me…

He rolled on his side, pulling up his trousers. This time, however, he didn't appear to be in any kind of hurry because he raised his arms, stretching like a satisfied cat before sitting up and address her.

- Get up and wash your face. You make up is smeared and you look like a clown. You are pathetic.

This time the queen obeyed right away, getting off the bed and moving quickly to the bathroom. This time she could walk without bending in two for the pain although at every step she felt a stabbing at her midsection and her legs were unstable. She washed her face, scrubbing it with a washcloth to remove every trace of make up, she cleaned her thighs noticing that there was no blood and yet she was still wet and sticky and then she took off all her hairpins that stung terribly her scalp while he moved over her, squashing her against the mattress.

Flagg observed her as she exited the bathroom and reached the bed, standing there, uncertain. Her loose hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, her face was clean and reddened by the scrubbing, her cheek were still slightly round filled by her remaining baby fat. Her breasts, something he discovered a predilection for, were starting to bruise there where his greedy fingers gripped them. Her hip were widening, just as the hips of a woman should and made him think of the pleasure she gave him, how he had enjoyed thrusting into her, his hardness inside her softness, corruption inside innocence, oldness inside youth. For the first time he watched her and found her beautiful. If he thought she could have endured the experience without breaking in a million pieces he would have pushed her face down on the bad and enjoyed her buttocks.

Instead he smiled at her, ogling her silky white stockings and pointed at the centre of the bed as if he was the host and she the guest in the sorcerer's bed.

- Please, be at ease, you had a long and tiring day, my dove. Lay down.

Uncertain on what he wanted but sure it would be better to obey him, Tamara laid in the centre of the bed, above the sheets she could not lift with him spread over them. For a fleeting moment she thought about wearing her nightgown, folded under her pillow, but she discarded soon the idea because she knew he would have prohibit it. Therefore she placed her head on the pillow and tried to relax, even if she felt uneasy naked under his stare. Flagg was at her side in an instant, the pleased smile he had on when she exited the bathroom still firmly in place. Tamara was amazed by it: in all her life she had seen him smile rarely and never so openly. His eyes were alight with mischievousness and he seemed nearly… playful. He gripped one of her ankle, placing her foot on his lap and using these long, pale fingers Tamara was sure she would be forever unable to look at without blushing, he undo her garter knot and rolled down the stocking. Then, keeping a steady grip on her ankle, he made her bent her leg and bowed to kiss her inner thigh. The kiss begun tender, a brush of his thin lips, then his lips gave away to his teeth and he bit her flash, sucking and leaving behind a round purple bite mark with the print of his teeth to circle it. He did the same to her other leg and the girl stifled her moan of pleasure, and pain when he bit too hard, with both her hands.

Finally he stopped and stared at his work, bent over her, kissed her a last time and got off the bed. He redressed and before lowering the hood over his face, he shoot her a parting leer. Then he went away, seemly disappearing behind a wall.

Tamara finally relaxed for real since the moment the maids were chased away. She got off the bed and put back on her underclothes, retrieved her nightgown from under the pillow and slipped it on before crawling under her bedcovers, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Now that he went away she felt tired and aching and more dirty than she felt getting out of her pretty white gown. She started to shiver uncontrollably, her body shook violently with tearless sobs. She felt ashamed, she could still feel over her skin the sensation of the sorcerer's hands, she could still feel inside that thing she still had no name for and she still had to see but that she had felt. Hard, invading, it had hurt and shamed her because she had liked some parts of that terrible experience and he had been right calling her a whore, she was ruined, she was dirty, dirty, dirty…

Her pillow muffled her sobs while the queen, crowned as the absolute monarch of Delain not even for a day, cried bitterly, wounded in the body and in the soul by the abuse inflicted on her by the man she trusted the most in the word and who she thought she loved.

AN:

Hi! First of all thank you, you solitary hero who are reading this! I translated this chapter only for you.

About Flagg: I hope you read The eyes of the dragon, so you do know that in the book Flagg is virtually asexual. He doesn't show any interest in either males nor females. So I invented everything about his preferences. About his looks: I'm reading the first book of the Dark Tower series (first version) and there Mr. King says the man in black's eyes are blue, but I have firmly in mind the picture in the book I have, the only one where Flagg is hood-less, and he has longish curly black hair, small evil looking black eyes and small wrinkles around his thin mouth and that is how I picture him in my mind.

The age difference: in The eyes of the dragon Sasha merry King Roland when she is 15 and he 33 years older than her. His wedding gift for her was a dollhouse (yes, she was still playing with dolls but stopped after the marriage) and during their first night she pointed at a part of his anatomy and asked: "what's that?" because she had no idea.

Lastly, I want to rant a little. Why does she let him do something like that? Why doesn't she fight him? Why doesn't she had him thrown in prison? I want to tell you about a crime that happened in Italy a couple of years ago. A little girl was found dead, she fell from the 8th floor. Everybody thought about an accident, only her mother screamed: murder! And she kicked up such a fuss that the police started an investigation. They discovered the child had been assaulted before her death. Then the neighbour little friend of the dead little girl and her older sister told the truth. The man their mother was living with had been abusing them for years. The last time the child has been saw alive she was with her little friend. The police imprisoned the man for raping and killing the little girl. And the two girls' mother was imprisoned too for having known about the man's abuse of her daughters and having told them to shut up and endure.

Why they never reported him? Why did they keep silent and endured? Perhaps they feared him, perhaps they loved their stepfather and their mother and didn't wanted them thrown in prison (where they belong). The hard fact however is this: they didn't say a word until a child died.

What I'm trying to describe in my fanfiction is similar. Tamara think she is in love and that Flagg loves her too. She will be silent and won't say a thing until the very end, when he would start to really hurt her and she would be unable lie to herself about his abuse and call it love.