Even Kings Worship On Their Knees

It is a dangerous thing, to call upon gods for intercession in mortal events.

Yet, sometimes, there is no choice but to plead for divine intervention, when the odds against you are so great that nothing except the hand of the gods could equal them.

So, on the most recent of the four Great Festivals, when night and day were equal, they had called, and been answered. Now, it was the Night of the Thinned Veil, one of the four Lesser Holidays, when the barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead were thinnest, and the wailing of those slain before their time called for vengeance.

There had been tales, before, of the Wild Hunt, merciless and relentless, from whom no being could hide. Some legends claim they hunted anyone unwary enough to cross their path. Other legends claimed that they followed no scent, but the stench of guilt, and only those who had reason to fear justice need fear the Hunt. Still more claimed that the Wild Hunt tracked not guilt, but Dark Deeds untoned for.

Tiera, dressed in a riding habit that felt somehow very large on her, despite being tailored perfectly to her frame, was inclined to believe the latter. The Wild Hunt did not descend to the mortal realm for any common criminal. They came for Necromancers and Dark Sorcerers, for armies summoned from the nether realms, and when a rogue of their own people managed to escape the barrier between realms. The Wild Hunt pursued those who were beyond mortal capability to catch or defeat.

Tonight, Tiera would ride at their head, and she would not ride alone.

Around her, the others gathered, as young and scared as Tiera was sure she looked. Her cousin, orphaned as a baby and raised alongside her, before they were sent to the Enclave to learn magic. Their friends, too many of whom knew the pain of lost loved ones. Beside her, Kerdos, her betrothed of a few months, squeezed her hand in sympathy or reassurance. He had been at her side when she asked for the aid of the gods, and he would not stray from it now.

They'd kissed for the first time that night. A proper kiss, not quick brushes of lips against cheeks or hands. Kisses had been few and far between in the six and a half weeks since; they'd both been so busy. But those instances, his lips on hers, soft and lingering and sweet, had left her craving more.

This part of the year was presided over by The Huntsman and his consort, the Lady of Ravens. In their gentler guises, they oversaw the hunting and preserving of meat to see the world through winter, the thinning of herds both wild and domestic so that animal populations did not outpace the land's ability to support them. But it was the warlike aspects that they called upon now, the hunter that no prey could outrun and the lady who strode untouched through battlefields, carrion-eating birds as black as death in her wake.

It was time, and delaying risked the failure of their desperate ploy. "Everyone ready?"

Herron, her cousin, checked the sword at his side and the mage-rod strapped across his shoulders. "No, but don't let that stop you."

Pest. Herron could be happy that his own betrothed would be staying behind to prepare for their hopefully successful return, as were the youngest of the Enclave. Tiera glared at him without heat, then closed her eyes and chanted the prayer that had been burned into her memory since mid-Autumn, Kerdos's voice blending seamlessly with hers. "Then let it be so."

A giant wolf the size of a horse, silver-white and glowing like the moon, padded out of the darkness and knelt so that Tiera could mount it. Shadows twisted together to become a horse, blacker than night, for Kerdos to ride, a hunting horn hanging from the saddle. All around them, the ghosts of the departed rose and took their places among the living. Herron made a noise that was half-gasp and half-sob as two shades came to flank him, ghostly hands on his shoulders. Looking at the man, It was easy to see what Herron would look like when he was grown, while the woman shared several features that Tiera had inherited from her own mother.

Overhead, ravens gathered, ready to guide the Wild Hunt to their quarry. Tiera mounted the wolf, hoping that she wouldn't fall off as soon as it began to run. Kerdos did the same on the shadow horse, the glowing, ethereal antlers of a just-mature buck sprouting from his ash-blond curls as they took their place at the front of the column. Tiera didn't dare look to see what aspects of the goddess she'd taken on. "Everyone, mount up!"

There was an odd dual tone to her voice, the power and wrath of a goddess layered beneath her own familiar tones.

The living did so, spirits rising to shield them. Living and dead, mortal and divine, united in a single purpose, the Wild Hunt rode out once more.

The forest blurred around them, and it seemed that they were in all forests at once, and yet a forest completely unknown. Tiera didn't know how long they rode before the ravens overhead cawed and circled, and Kerdos reached for the hunting horn, the sound ringing in the ears but also reverberating through the soul on some deeper, more primal level.

The effect was far greater on the black-robed mages who called themselves followers of the Dark Lord Malfeasance, those who had willingly blackened their souls in his name and at his bidding, and now felt their judgement come due.

Some fell to their knees, begging for mercy that would not - could not - be granted. Others tried to flee, but there was no escape from the Wild Hunt. The Dark Lord, regrettably, was not among his host, but he drew his power from them, and their loss would weaken him accordingly.

It should not have felt so easy. It should not have been so easy.

Even possessed by a War and Fertility Goddess (the Lady of Ravens was entirely happy to enrich the fields with the bone and blood of her enemies), Tiera's skill in the combat arts was middling at best. This time, her foes fled before her, rather than facing her in combat, and killing a fleeing enemy was different.

The clash of weapons blended with bursts of magic and shouted spells, almost drowning out the terrified screams and the cries of the dying.

Even with the distance granted by a goddess wearing her skin, Tiera was certain it would feature in her nightmares for a very long time.

On the Night of the Thinned Veil, at least when one wasn't culling the forces of evil, the celebrations traditionally finished with a farewell feast and dancing. Feasting and Dancing were to celebrate the lives of those who had passed in the previous year, and at any point, a dancer could slip away unobtrusively, to spend time with their ghosts and bid a more private farewell before the sun rose.

The trappings of god and goddess did not fade when the Wild Hunt returned to the Enclave, nor did the ghosts. The wolf and horse melted back into the shadows, while Tiera and Kerdos and the gods they hosted led the way inside. A feast had been set out on tables arranged in a great circles, ringed with candles behind and a great fire in the middle, with room to dance without getting scorched.

As much as a celebration, the food was a safeguard. By the laws of hospitality, once a guest accepted food, they were bound not to harm the giver. If any disguised spirits intended harm, they could not carry it out after accepting hospitality from their hosts. It was always possible to refuse food, but to do so would be to deny the offer of hospitality, and the spirit would then have to leave and find another place to cause trouble.

Tiera and Kerdos took their place at the centre of the high table, the rest of their inner circle settling in one either side. Public speaking was not one of Tiera's natural gifts, but she was even worse when she tried to recite from a script. "Friends! Tonight we have struck a great blow against the Dark Lord. His revenge will come, but not tonight! Tonight we celebrate, and honour the gods who aided our cause. Raise your cups to The Huntsman and the Lady of Ravens, and to the Harvest Mother and Guardian of Fields and Forests, whose bounty fills our table this night!"

Cheers rose from the rows of tables, Kerdos raised their joined hands. "The blessings of the gods be upon up. We feast and dance for their glory, and our own victory."

Having a fertility god hosted in the body of her betrothed was providing some unexpected drawbacks; every time Tiera looked at him - tall and handsome and resplendent in his antlered crown - she felt an overpowering urge to skip the feast entirely and retreat to their rooms. Ancient priestesses had offered themselves as virgin sacrifices, their maidenhood claimed by the god to bless the land. Every time Tiera looked at her husband to be, and the god he hosted, she completely understood the practice.

Getting herself under control with some effort, she clapped her hands, and the feast began.

Tiera had been deliberately avoiding looking too closely at herself for hints of the divine, but when she raised her arms for the opening steps, what she had told herself was a cloak moved with them, raven-black wings shadowing the motions of her arms. Kerdos smiled down at her, and it was an effort not to drop to her knees, audience or no audience, "The horns don't weigh like real antlers would, but I have to keep reminding myself that they're there."

He still spoke in the dual-tones, too, and the desire of a god behind his clear eyes did nothing for Tiera's efforts to keep the dance steps straight in her head.

The first strains of music filled the hall, a lively beat to get feet tapping and blood pumping, for the kind of dance that celebrated those still alive.

There had always been a kind of magic in the sacred dances, but this felt different.

Perhaps it was as if the power were more real, somehow, in ways that it had not been before. Of course, with The Huntsman and Lady of Ravens still inhabiting their hosts, that was very likely the case. It had been a long time since the Gods had personally participated in the Holy Nights like this.

Perhaps that was the reason for Tiera's increased desire, too. The God and Goddess were partners in more than just their domains. Tiera and Kerdos had both been grieving lost loves when their betrothal was formalized; and had yet to really talk about the possibility of romance. Now the gods themselves were forcing their hands.

It felt a bit like overkill.

The dance gained speed, and so did Tiera's heartbeat. Every brush of their hands seemed to burn like fire, each time they pressed close for a spin or lift, it was harder and harder to pull away. As the music slowed for the final measures, Tiera looked her betrothed in the eyes. "We should take this somewhere private, before I give into temptation and climb you like a tree."

Kerdos gave a startled laugh, nearly forgetting to take her hand for the final parting. "Good idea, there are some things that I don't want as public knowledge."

They weren't the first to slip away from the fire dance, but there were more than enough who lingered around the dying blaze to prevent their absence from being noticed immediately.

The door had barely closed behind them before Tiera had pushed Kerdos against it, kissing him fiercely, the fire between them roaring to life. Kerdos lifted her into his arms and spun them around, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, bunching the skirt of her riding habit up around her thighs. It felt so good, so perfectly right, that Tiera couldn't prevent a whimper of desire escaping.

Kerdos immediately paused, the exact opposite of what she wanted. "Are you sure, Tiera? I know we haven't really discussed..."

Tiera pressed a finger lightly to his lips. "I am sure that I want you, and may spontaneously combust if you stop now. I love you, even if I am not sure how, so unless you wish to stop..."

He laughed, and kissed her again, pressing her against the wall. Tiera gasped when his lips migrated to her jaw, and then her neck, his hands finding the laces of her dress. "Some of the older women said something about bodice-ripping."

Kerdos kissed the hollow of her throat, his tongue darting out, and Tiera promptly stopped trying to remember distant conversations. "I know how much time you spent embroidering the rune work on this, and the spellwork that went into the weaving. I wouldn't dare."

He had a point, magic-made clothing took a long time to make, and they still had to share an Enclave with the people who wove it. When the haze of desire lifted, she probably would have been annoyed at the damage to house of work "Besides, this is more enjoyable."

Enjoyable for him, perhaps, when he clearly enjoyed torturing her by taking his time, calloused fingers teasing everywhere they touched. Tiera busied herself with the fastenings on his tunic, which felt annoyingly complicated for such simple things. His upper body was not the sculpted, statue-like form of those of those who trained their bodies to be seen, but the lean muscles of one who worked with animals daily, and had built the strength and stamina to keep up with them.

Tiera sat on a chair to remove her riding boots, and Kerdos crouched to unlace his own. "Are you certain, Tiera?"

She resisted the urge to throw the second boot at him. "If I mount you now, will that convince you that I'm serious about wanting this?"

He laughed, and knelt down before her, hands resting lightly on her bare legs. "Even kings worship on their knees, my love. Let me worship you now."

She was about to ask what he meant when Kerdos leaned forward, pushing her knees apart, and Tiera's last coherent thought was that the ancient ways of worship certainly had a great deal of merit to them.

Dancers were starting to slip away into the night, and finally, there were fewer eyes fixed on him.

Herron pulled his love into a darkened alcove, as the shades of his parents returned to dancing around the fire. Herron wondered if he'd been conceived on the Night of the Thinned Veil, nineteen years ago. Prophecy children often were, and the timing was more or less accurate for the date of his birth.

His Aunt and Uncle had taken some persuading to arrange the betrothal, wanting to wait until Herron's cousins were safely married, first. Herron suspected his cousin's support of the relationship to have been the tipping point in allowing the betrothal, though Tiera would never admit to it. They'd been won over by Petrona's skill, eventually, if not the circumstances of her birth, and Herron had taken the opportunity of tonight to introduce her to his parents, as well.

Petrona snuggled into his side against the chill of encroaching winter. "How are you feeling?"

The loss of his parents as an infant had shaped Herron's life, from being confirmed as a child of prophecy to being raised by family who were kind enough, but would have been just as happy without him. Meeting the parents who had died to save him had seemed an impossible dream, until now.

Of course, so had the hope of Dark Lord Malfeasance being weakened enough that the idea of defeating him no longer seemed a laughable concept. "I don't know."

Petrona hummed encouragingly and Herron wrapped his arm around her. "It's strange, realising that they were only a few years older than I am now, when they died. I'd been told that they were good people, who did what was right and needed over what was popular, but..."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, "But no matter how much you love and miss them, they're strangers to you? Your aunt would never call herself your mother, yet she's the one who raised you and knows you?"

Yes, that was it, exactly.

For all that she'd never quite forgiven her sister for running away and leaving her alone, his Aunt never forgot to have his favourite food served on his birthday, just like she did for her own children. His uncle had been his first teacher in warfare, equal to Tiera's brother (and much to his female cousin's annoyance). His parents had loved him more than his Aunt and Uncle did, but he didn't know them.

Herron didn't feel guilty, as such, for the realisation, just sad for what would never be, and wistful for what might have been. "For whatever it's worth, they seem to approve of you."

Petrona laughed, and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him. "How eager are you to get to bed?"

The alcove had been a guard shelter, when the Enclave was a border outpost. It had been designed to give the guardsmen a vantage point with an excellent view, not for them to be seen in return. Herron ran his fingers along the low-cut neckline of her gown. "What did you have in mind?

That was the nice thing about being betrothed: it meant you were as good as married, but for the ceremony and exchange of gifts between families, and the chaperones stopped caring what you did in dark corners. With a year and a day between the betrothal and the wedding, more than one young bride arrived at the alter pregnant. Petrona unlaced the ties on his breeches, "We did a scrying, to make sure you were all right, those of us left behind. I saw you, wielding blade and magic to stop the ones who wouldn't think twice about killing me."

Her voice was low and intimate, thick with desire, and it would take a man more oblivious than Herron could sometimes be to miss what she intended. "You mean to reward your conquering hero, then?

She slipped to her knees between him and the stones, providing an excellent view down the front of her dress even as his larger frame concealed her from view. "Just so."

Herron was a young man, it didn't take more than a few minutes of her hands and lips on him before he had to stop her, or risk embarrassing himself. There was a small ledge carved into the stone, likely meant to hold a cup and bowl or small plate of something hot on a cold night. Herron lifted Petrona onto it now, bringing her face level with his, pushing her skirts up and moving between her legs. Where he expected cloth, there was nothing but smooth, bare skin, thighs slick with desire. "You planned this, you naughty girl."

She reached up and pulled him into a searing kiss, making it very clear what she wanted. Herron didn't bother asking if she was sure, for fear of being called a blind idiot. Instead, he unlaced her bodice just enough to free her breasts. She'd let him touch them, before, and demonstrated just how sensitive they were.

Petrona gasped in pleasure when he ran his thumbs over the peaked nipples, before returning one hand between her legs. "Yes, keep going."

Herron was happy to take his time, teasing her until she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry of pleasure. "It's rude to leave a lady waiting, blast you!"

Herron laughed, and pulled her hips forward, sliding into her easily. She felt incredible, warm and snug around him, but not tight enough to be painful for either of them. "Forgive the lapse, my lady."

He lowered his head to her breasts, lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth, and Petrona dug her fingers into his hair. "I'll forgive you anything if you keep doing that."

He moved inside her, testing how comfortable she was, and she stifled a scream by burying her face in his shoulder. Herron paused, raising his head from the dark feast of her breasts, "Good or bad screaming?"

Petrona had to catch her breath before she could answer, and wrapped her legs around his waist to stop him pulling away in the meantime. "Good, very good. You're going to have to find a way to keep me quiet."

Herron wasted no time in claiming her lips again, one hand buried in her silky black hair, the other braced against ancient stone as he thrust his hips forward. His lover rose to meet him enthusiastically, all soft curves to his battle-gained muscle, pressing herself as close to him as she could. Herron released her mouth to nibble at the skin under her ear, "Use your words, my heart."

Petrona let out a strangled moan, and gasped something that sounded like breathlessly cursing him for a tease. Herron dipped his head to flick his tongue over her nipple, holding himself still with considerable effort. "You were saying?"

"Take me, damn you!" Herron loved the rare occasions Petrona cursed. "Make me yours, ruin me for any touch but your own."

Well, when she asked so nicely... Herron pounded into her with the same intense focus he reserved for battle magic, something that demanded no less than full dedication and focus, for a magic that could turn on a distracted wielder as quickly as its target. "Yes! Oh, please, more!"

He wasn't going to last much longer, Herron knew, he just had to hold out long enough... Petrona let out a keening cry, shaking with the force of her own climax, and Herron gladly followed her over the edge, holding himself deep inside her as stars flickered around the edge of his vision.

He stayed inside her, teasing the pleasure points within easy reach to make sure she never fully came down from the edge, while he recovered enough to do something about it. Soft and pliant in his arms, Petrona's whimpers and soft moans and fluttering inner muscles hardened him as effectively as his own hands.

But now, Herron could afford to take his time. He moved slowly inside her. "Tell me what you want."

Petrona clutched at his shoulders, "You, however you want me."

There was no harm in asking. "There is something I've wanted to try... will you trust me?"

She gasped as he stroked the nub between her legs. "Yes."

Herron pulled out of his lover and eased her to her feet, turning her around so that she faced away from him, leaning over the ledge. "Still yes?"

Petrona paused a moment before answering, and he appreciated that she was actually thinking about the answer. "Yes. I'll tell you if I don't like it."

He slid back inside, stroking her smooth rear as he did. Petrona inhaled sharply, "Oh, yes."

Herron reached around her, one hand cupping her breast, the other gently turning her head to the side so that he could kiss her. Spooned together like this, she bore both their weight on trembling arms, He rolled his hips, and Petrona screamed into his mouth, trying to take him deeper.

She peaked well before he did, and was careening toward a third summit when Herron dropped his hand to her hip, holding her still as he thrust, hard. Her body shook beneath him, trembling through another climax as he spent himself inside her.

Petrona's hands were unsteady as she re-laced her bodice, letting her skirts fall back into place. "We're going back to our rooms, where the walls have soundproofing spells, and seeing what else you've been thinking about trying."

Herron wrapped an arm around her waist as she took a very wobbly step. "Your wish is my command."

Perhaps it was the residual effects of the Wild Hunt, or the festival itself, but his body still thrummed with energy, and Herron felt as if he really could go all night.

I'm ending the vocal version here, before it gets too long to be reasonably called a short story. Also, because this is for the Filthy category, and there's already about 2000 words more plot than I originally planned for.

Don't worry, the Spicy Romance version is coming. It's already at 5000+ words of both plot and spice.

I'll post the purchase link here when it's done.