Chapter III: The Lesser Husband

            Othol ran his hands over Sjona’s arms and the girl shivered.  He smirked, cupping her small breasts and squeezing gently.  It had been absurdly easy to seduce Malida’s younger sister.  She was a shy, reserved girl, clumsy and socially awkward.   She was pretty, too, so it was no hardship, but Goddess!  She bored him to tears.  At thirty, she was way too old to fuck.  

            He bent her until her chest was pressed to the mattress and fingered her sex.  She gasped and moaned.  He thrust into her tight heat with three fingers, his mind a million miles away.  

            Approaching the Council would take finesse.  His smirk widened.  Malida had given him the perfect excuse to remove her from the throne and, knowing her, she would not be able to refrain from her getting in her own way.  She was absurdly moral and committed.  She would be her own worst enemy, unable to silence her thoughts and unable to let go of her ridiculous vision.  He had almost crowed with glee when she had revealed her Vision and admitted to believing it.  And now she was gone for a month, leaving Moyen in charge.

            He removed his fingers from Sjona’s ouna and lined his kaoun to her hot, slick flesh, thrusting without preamble.  She cried out and wriggled, glancing at him over her shoulder.

            He refrained from rolling his eyes at the actions she construed as alluring.  For a thirty year old woman, Sjona was surprisingly naive.

            He allowed his thoughts to wander again.  He pictured himself sitting on the throne, holding the scepter and orb, and his kauon got hard as stone.  He bit his lip to keep from laughing.  Sjona thought she had him wrapped around her little finger, but the only thing that made him truly aroused, beside very young girls, was the thought of power.  Moyen did not want the throne, being absurdly devoted to his role of Warlord.  He would get Malida deposed and then ascend to the throne, marrying Sjona to solidify his rule.  All he had to do was plant the seed of doubt in the Council’s mind.  If Malida was mad, then her children were susceptible to lunacy as well.  He frowned.  Toyus was stolid, though, and might oppose him.  But there was always poison.

            Sjona had wanted nothing but attention.  It had taken him but a few weeks to convince her that she wanted to be queen.  He would fill her womb with a child and she would be set to one side. He was of the mindset that women should not rule.  They were weak and emotional; look at Malida, believing fantastical visions and fantasies.  Soft on the poorest of the poor, absurdly devoted to her soldiers.  Soldiers were tools, that’s all. He would impose the caste laws once more, which would allow him to tax the commoners like they ought to be taxed and allow the clans to rise to their former power and glory.  He was a child of Clan Ethael, but he had been forced to take Malida’s surname when he married her.  A surname brought from Yllysia, of all places.  It was foreign and of impure lineage.  Clan Ethael traced its history back before the founding of Torahn.

            Once he brought back the caste laws, the clans would back him and he would be supreme, untouchable and ruthless.  The first thing he would do would be to remove Moyen from his post and exile Clan Ekesj.  He had a younger brother in the armed forces who shared his beliefs and he would make a fine Warlord.  And all of it would be done without a drop of blood.

            His thoughts made him thrust harder and harder into her until he was on the brink of his completion.   He reached down and fingered her to speed her completion as well.  Her moans rose like a litany over the large bedroom.  Pretty soon, he was stuttering as he came, bathing her insides with his seed.  Hopefully, his seed would take root now that he had convinced her to stop taking her pregnancy suppressing tea.  He pulled out of her and slapped her pert bottom.  She yelped and he laughed.

            She dropped onto the mattress, her fingers furiously working her ouna.

            He turned from her and picked up his clothes, striding to the adjoining bathing chamber to wash her musk from his skin.  He bathed in cold water, his mind planning so furiously, he hardly felt the icy water pelting his skin.  When he was done bathing, he dressed and left Sjona’s suites, making his way down the hall to his own apartments.  He needed to write his brother in the army to set up a meeting.  He would not commit to writing any of his schemes.  Any letter could be intercepted and his plans would die before ever seeing the light of day.

            Once in his study, he locked the door and went to his desk, where he pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write, asking when his brother had a day off to join him for dinner.  Then he poured fine sand over the ink to absorb the excess, setting the note to one side to dry.  Rising from his chair, he went to the window to gaze out at the snow falling softly and silently onto the bailey.  His brother was absurdly devoted to the Warlord, so he had to proceed cautiously to convince him to join forces.  The good thing about Thelon was that he shared Othol’s beliefs about the clans and the caste laws.  It wouldn’t take too much convincing, he didn’t think, to get his brother onboard.  He would also write to his father in Kuin-on-the-H’aj.  His father was conservative in his views and barely tolerated paying taxes to a woman.  He treated his servants as they should be treated and taxed the denizens of the city as they ought to be taxed.  His father had taught him his morals and beliefs and Othol would get no arguments from him.  He sighed, remembering when his father heard Othol had taken Malida’s surname.  The old man had been livid.  It had taken Othol a long time to convince him that he had plans and his plans involved returning glory to the clans.  His relationship with his sire remained strained to this day but, once he was king, his father would mend that fence.  He was sure of it.

            Turning back to the desk, he thought of Sjona.  The idea of being married to her made his blood run cold.  She was so empty and inane.  Did he really need her?  Perhaps at first, he thought.  A bit of poison would take care of her, but only once she gave him a child.  Then he could find a girl who was meek and docile and would allow herself to be controlled, a girl from a pure line, a daughter of the clans.  He smiled.  His time of pretending, of keeping his mouth closed, was coming to an end.  He could envision the freedoms that would fill his days.  One of the first things he would do, right after ascending the clans to their rightful place, was to amass a harem.  Then he could fuck to his heart’s content and stop sneaking around like it was some sort of sin.  Women’s freedoms would be stripped away, like the commoners’ rights would.  And he would dismiss the House of Commons.  His rule would be a Theocratic Aristocracy.  He would be sole ruler with the clans and the Church advising him.  His rule would evolve into a monarchy and his descendants would then make the Ethaels the most powerful of the clans.  Eventually, only the Ethaels would rule.  His kaoun got hard in his trousers and he smirked, reaching down to adjust his erection.  Perhaps he would visit a brothel this night, where a girl would accept to be fucked up the ass if he paid enough.  And soon enough he would not have to pay at all.

            He rubbed his hands and returned to his desk.  He pulled his chain out from under his tunic and unhooked his desk key.  He unlocked the top drawer and removed his journal.  He continued to write down laws and ideas for laws, but he also wrote down his plans for the future.  He had three girls in mind for a possible wife.  Two were the tender age of twelve but already showed promise.  They were clan daughters, docile and meek, and beautiful as a sunrise.  The third was fifteen, ripe for marriage.  He frowned and wrote down another idea to lower women’s marriageable age to twelve.  If they bled, they were old enough to marry.  He wanted a large brood of children, so perhaps all three girls could become his wives.  He narrowed his eyes.  Once he was king, the clans would not demand a bride price.  He would get five children per girl, which would be plenty.  Once he was tired of them, he would put his harem together.  

            He set the pen in its holder and rubbed his hands together briskly.  He sneered.  Malida had given him the world.  It made all the times he lied and agreed with her ideas worth it.  The lies he had voiced to get her to marry him!  Equality of the sexes.  Suffrage for the common rabble.  Greater power for the House of Commons.  Lesser taxes until Draemin City was eclipsed by other cities.  It was intolerable!  He scowled.  Things would change and for the better.  He would see to that.

            He slid the letter to his brother into its envelope and sealed it using his family crest in green wax.  

            He would confide his plans to his brother and gauge if he had an ally in him. If not, then he would have to silence him and swiftly.  No one was worth losing his future to.  No one.

            Rising, he strode to the hallway door and handed the letter to a passing servant, giving directions to have it delivered to his brother.  He dropped a coin onto the servants palm and refrained from scowling.  He would have to put an end to that and soon enough.

            Going back inside the study, he pulled his cloak from its hook on the wall and pulled it on, fastening it at the collarbone before striding out into the sitting room.

            “Will my lord be dining here tonight,” his butler asked.

            “No.  I’ll be eating in town,” he replied tersely, brushing past the servant.

            “Very good, sir,” the butler replied and bowed.

            Down in the Great Hall, he noted which of the courtiers were his supporters and which were not.  He would have to reward loyalty, especially in the beginning.  All of his supporters were men of the clans.  Some had tried unsuccessfully to bed him.  He sneered.  Filthy atoliy.  When he became king, it would become a sin and punishable by death to be atoliy.  That would put them in their place.  The idea of lying sexually with another man filled him with a cold disgust.  He had had to flirt with these sinners in order to garner supporters, letting some cup his flaccid kaoun or his bottom, letting them corner him and kiss him.  He shuddered.  He would personally plunge his dagger into the hearts of every one of the men who had used him thusly.  When he became king, Atana would be wiped from North Torahn.  He refused to worship a goddess. The God Poa would return to Torahn in all His glory.  He would choose the bloodiest incarnation of the God, too.  Poa the Harvester.  On his altar, he would sacrifice anyone who refused to worship Him, every single atoliy, every single person who refused to back his government.  He would bathe North Torahn in blood and cleanse the land of impurities.  

            He climbed into a free carriage.  First things first.  He needed to slake his sexual thirst with the youngest whore he could find.  Then he would see to his future.

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