On Azrael’s Wings
Ursula, a seamstress’ slave, survives the brutal attack on her village by the King’s Butcher, General Azrael of the Third Army. Due to circumstances beyond her control she’s thrust into the role of body slave for the infamous woman, and must learn to please her new mistress in all ways or end up on the slaver’s block. Azrael only wishes to retire at her estate, but her king has other ideas. In fact, King Shonal has many ideas Azrael cannot abide, and one of them has to do with demanding sexual favors from her newly acquired body slave…the one she’s unaccountably fallen in love with.
Shoulders hunching in fear, Ursula silently rose and approached, her bare soles whisking lightly across the ground. She paused, obviously uncertain of the proper protocol, before dropping back to her knees at Azrael’s feet.
“Stand, Ursula.” Azrael circled the trembling woman.
Midia had done a fine job finding clothes for her new acquisition. The dress held more purple than burgundy, but it would do until something else was found. It was of a heavier material than Azrael cared for, but it clung in all the right places, bringing out Ursula’s well-rounded attributes. Her freshly washed hair smelled of the herbal concoction Midia enjoyed, the tresses hanging in natural waves down her back and along her breasts.
“You clean up well,” she said once she completed her circuit.
A blush crept up the slave’s neck.
Azrael felt an answering flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Moving around Ursula, she went to the entrance and stepped outside.
The flames of the bonfire were beginning to take hold, dancing orange light bathing the revelers. Azrael smelled roasted meat from the cook tents. The prisoners served the meal, their cries and whimpers drowned out by soldiers’ laughter as the victory celebration began.
Turning to one of her guard, Azrael held out the message. “See this gets out immediately,” she said.
“Have someone bring food for three to my tent.” She paused. “And bring a pallet from the surgeons’.”
“Aye, General, as you wish.” The soldier saluted and ran off, another solidifying out of the dusk to take his place.
Azrael re-entered the tent, pleased to see Ursula had remained in place during her absence. Seating herself at the table, she waved Midia forward with a murmured, “Attend me.” As her body slave poured fresh wine, the general continued gazing at Ursula. “You say you have been a slave for two years.”
Ursula whispered, “Yes, Milady.”
“Yet you have few scars. Were you so obedient that beatings were unnecessary?” After taking the cup from Midia, Azrael pulled her onto her lap.
“I… Apparently so, Milady,” Ursula said, blushing.
Azrael drank from her cup, setting it on the table. She caressed Midia’s bared thigh as she spoke. “Who owned you? What were your duties?”
“I was owned by a man who had me stay with his elderly mother, Milady. She…she was a seamstress in the village, and I helped her sew. She wouldn’t leave her home to join her son on his farm.” A loud roar of excitement from outside caused Ursula to flinch.
“No worries, girl. They don’t have the balls to come in here.”
“Aye, Milady,” Ursula said, her shaking voice barely above a whisper.
Julia Watson, Reviewer, Our Chart
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