Author's Note - This series is a continuation of 'The Prince's Potion,' and set around twenty years later. Though not necessary, I strongly recommend reading those stories prior to this one -
this chapter is a direct sequel to 'The Velcin Dynasty - Ch. 03'
. I realize my stories are not for everyone. If you're not interested in exaggerated sex organs, incest, inbreeding, and medieval/fantasy settings, this may not be for you. Thank you all for the continued support and feedback!
All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Chapter 7 - Balmudia
Late was the hour when Prince Marcus Velcin was dragged from his cell.
The men who unshackled him said nothing but the nineteen-year-old knew this must be different from their usual questioning. They hadn't begun by beating him senseless for starters. That was odd. Instead, they poured hot water on him, made him wash, and gave him clean clothes. It had been months since he'd had a proper cleaning or worn anything other than the tattered rags of a prisoner. But this was no jail, and these were no gaolers.
He was being held somewhere south of the city, near the sea. The old harbour district. Though they rarely spoke to him directly, Marcus knew his guards were part of the resistance group that had mobbed the city three months ago. They had seemingly incited huge riots overnight, caused all kinds of chaos in the streets, and finally, with make-shift weapons and torches, stormed and pillaged Castle Remo.
Marcus, his twin sisters Mizel and Silena, and his pregnant wife, Princess Quizia Remo, had barely escaped with their lives. They had almost made it out of the city but were separated by a burning cart in a narrow back alley. That's where the mob had found them.
Their personal bodyguards were trampled immediately. Marcus fought valiantly to protect his family but was summarily subdued by shrouded figures. He woke up in a wagon with his sister Mizel sometime later that night. It was the last time he saw any of them. He'd been in this cell ever since.
This place must be some old, abandoned dockyard, he figured, one of the warehouses that once built the ships of the Balmudian fleet. The entire harbour had sat empty for nearly twenty years, since the plague. The locals called it cursed. It now served as the lair of the resistance, and more recently, the base of operations for Captain Red Rose Ashmont, scourge of the high seas, pirate queen, returned from her long voyages... to liberate Balmudia from the corrupt Velcin family.
Or some such nonsense, Marcus assumed, having pieced all this together from eavesdropping on his guards.
And evidently his captors knew who he was - a prince of Trevilan, of the ruling Velcin family, which had been openly operating and governing in Balmudia for nearly two decades. Publicly, Trevilan was here to restore the beleaguered kingdom to its former glory. Privately, Balmudia was but one more piece of the puzzle towards total unification of the continent under Velcin rule.
Now he was a political prisoner, a bargaining chip for them to use against his father, King Rodmond Velcin. What ransom would father pay for his life? For Mizel's?
Presently he was taken out into the windy night and lead down to the docks. Was he to stand before Red Rose herself? He could only guess where they were leading him. No doubt he would be expected to answer for Trevilan's crimes, as his guards so regularly told him during his beatings over the last few months of captivity. Down the rickety old wooden pier, they took him by both arms, his feet barely keeping up with their brisk pace. Straight ahead loomed the massive ship, black and ominous, its sails shrouding the moonlight.
'The Cap'n has requested you join her for a late supper,' one of them growled.
Marcus could tell the attempt at civility was almost too much for the brute. 'Aboard her ship?' he coughed.
'None other.'
'Why not in the city?' he managed. 'I'm sure the captain would love to see what you've done to the place.' He nodded backwards at the smoldering ruins, the black smoke rising from the city behind them as they walked along the old harbour front.
'Cap'n never leaves her ship,' one replied helpfully.
'Quiet, you mutt,' the other shushed.
'She doesn't, does she?' Marcus inquired.
'Ship keeps her alive. Her magic is tied to-'
'I said
quiet!'
the other barked. 'Keep your mouth shut and let's get rid of this Velcin scum already.'
Eventually his guards directed him up the wooden gangplank and onto the
Merry Mermaid
, where he could see the moonlit bay and the numerous half-sunken ships scattered around the disused harbour.
Marcus was brought below and before an ornately gilded door, the captains' quarters. After a loud knock, a woman's voice told admitted them. He was ushered in, or pushed rather, into a cluttered but invitingly warm bedchamber. They released him without fanfare, and he struggled to stand on his own two feet.
The prisoner prince was immediately greeted by the heat of a crackling brazier in the center of the circular room and large bay windows projecting outward on the opposite end. The space was an eclectic arrangement of mis-matched furniture and shiny treasures from places untold, of conquest beyond conquest. His eyes were drawn to the massive bed set against windows. The room had a spectacular view of where they'd held him prisoner, and the burning city.
Sprawled atop the bed, idly reading a book, Captain Red Rose Ashmont lay.
Though lit only by the small brazier, Marcus had no trouble making out the pirate woman's shapely figure. He guessed her to be in her late twenties and curvaceously built. She wore a dress of sapphire blue that hugged her curves sensuously. A heavy brown leather belt was tied about her ample waist. Wild, long red hair, curly and untamed, fell past her broad shoulders and framed her pale, freckled face like an oil painting.
Marcus was unnerved by her beauty. He had not seen a woman for so long and didn't expect such a reviled pirate to be so voluptuous. Though it was her fiery hair that first caught his gaze, his eyes were quick to wander down to her magnificent full breasts, a plunging neckline showcasing an ample bosom of round globes held in a mouth-watering display of creamy cleavage.
Marcus shook his head to remind himself that this sultry pirate was his captor, and that somewhere on this ship, his sister Mizel was also captive. He clenched his fists, told himself not to be taken in by her wiles. And yet, her relaxed and blatant display of sensuality, plus the fact that he had been rotting in a damp cell for the last three months with nothing to fuck, made him swallow hard and restrain the stirring between his legs.
'Leave us,' her low, husky voice commanded.
The two men bowed and closed the door. Now they were alone. After a long silence, where Rose appeared to still be in her book, Marcus said, 'poor reading light will ruin your eyes.'
Rose chuckled and rested the book on her bosom. 'I supposed you would have a lot of questions for me,' she purred. 'My reading habits the least among them.' She had a slow drawl, an easy way of speaking to him, and in a voice barely above a whisper. She regarded him now as if they were old friends. As if he hadn't just been dragged from a cell at her command. When Marcus didn't reply she said, 'why don't you have something to eat?' and gestured slowly towards the table at the far left of the room. An elaborate board of meats, cheese, and fruit was arranged on it.
There was more food on the table before him than he'd seen in months. Marcus was surprised he hadn't noticed it as soon as he'd walked in, but he was evidently too busy looking at Rose's big tits.
Be careful,
