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Lady Shadowheart, Supreme Justiciar, had just approved the latest list of executions, when she needed to make room for another name. Sighing, she inked her quill and demanded, “Who is it? A heretic? A traitor?”
“He had this on him, my lady.” Alfira tentatively put her hand out.
They were in Shadowheart’s office, purple stone walls shining in the light of tall candles in black metal braziers. A dark-grey stone sarcophagus carved with screaming faces served as her desk, covered with books and papers. She lounged in her chair, informally dressed in loose black robes with purple and gold accents, black hair neatly tied into its customary plait. Alfira wore the simple white shift of those yet to be initiated, purple hair loose down her shoulders. Through the thin fabric Shadowheart could see Alfira’s nipples stiff in the cool air – but Shadowheart pulled her wandering thoughts back. She shouldn’t be distracted when there was still business to conduct. She took the offered token from Alfira’s hand. Lifting it to the light, Shadowheart could see it was a silver earring in the form of a circle superimposed by an eight-pointed star. It was half-covered with blood.
She threw it onto the desk where it skittered lightly across the stone. “A Mystran.” Quill scratching the paper, Shadowheart squeezed in a new line below the final name, and above her signature. “A tenacious weed that burrows deep into the filth. The more I send out agents to cut them down, the deeper they go.”
Alfira said nothing, hands clasped in front of her, gold and black eyes focused on the floor.
“Who brought him in?” Shadowheart continued.
“The Ghostblade,” said Alfira.
Shadowheart snorted. “No one calls him that, little one, he’s just a spawn slave. Though I should’ve guessed it was him – he’s been particularly voracious recently.”
She inked her quill again. “There’s always room for another name.” A surge of anger shot through her when Alfira didn’t take the opportunity to speak. “Well?!” Shadowheart snapped. “What is this heretic’s name? Or have you taken a vow of silence to better serve our Lady of Loss?”
Alfira shook her head and hugged herself. “S-sorry – it’s Gale.”
Shadowheart’s quill paused over the document, as she glanced up at Alfira. “Gale? Gale who?” Her voice became eager. “Gale of Waterdeep? The wizard?”
Alfira’s mouth trembled as she whispered, “I don’t know, I was just told ‘Gale’.”
“Hmm.” Shadowheart threw the quill down and leaned back in her chair. “How exciting. The lover of Mystra.” Shadowheart had to see him for herself, before she signed his life away. Her eyes locked on to Alfira. “Have him brought to me at once.”
“Yes, my lady.” Alfira nodded and rushed towards the door.
“One more thing.” Shadowheart lifted a finger, and Alfira stopped and turned back. “Have him cleaned up.” Shadowheart glanced at the bloody earring. “No doubt Astarion had his fun before presenting his catch, and I don’t want blood on my floor. Oh, and Alfira–”
“Yes, my–”
“Put another layer on underneath.” Shadowheart took up her quill again. “It’s cold.”
“But that’s not permi–”
“Just do it.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Shadowheart surveyed the cramped letters of Gale’s name she’d inserted into the list. He was too important to be executed in a group. They should make a day of it, have a stage set up – Shadowheart could do a speech. A prized enemy asset, an archmage and Chosen of Mystra (cursed be her name) was in Shadowheart’s clutches. And what a gift she would make of him to the Lady of Loss. Astarion probably had no idea whom he’d caught – the primping fool. Shadowheart started to plan the special execution. How would she set it all up to best humiliate and dishearten the last heretic hold-outs? Rising from her chair to pace up and down, she became impatient. How long did it take to wash one damned wizard? In time, the knock came.
She went behind the stone desk and put her feet up. “Enter.”
Two Dark Justiciars in gold and silver plate armour, faces behind masks, came in and threw their prisoner to the floor. He grunted.
“That will be all,” said Shadowheart, and the two nodded and left.
The man pushed himself up into a kneeling position. He was nothing like she’d expected – she thought he’d be older, feeble, cowering. Instead his dark, intelligent eyes gleamed in the candlelight, quietly regarding her. She saw neither fear nor defiance in his calm gaze. The bruise forming on his cheekbone and the gash across his eyebrow did little to diminish his classic good looks. Along with the old scar slashing down his eye and cheek, the fresh injuries only added to his charm. Someone had put him in a novice’s undershirt – plain and black – and it gaped open at the top to reveal two neat red puncture marks at his neck, and a trail of darkening chest hair. Though his brown hair was long and loose, falling past his shoulders, it was clean and brushed, and his beard had been recently trimmed. His hands, manacled together in front, had all their fingers. A privileged life.
Shadowheart picked up the earring. “Gale of Waterdeep, heretic of Mystra.” Shadowheart threw the earring on the ground in front of Gale. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“That the hospitality of Shar is unfairly maligned.” His cultured voice was slightly hoarse but full of confidence. “I have only good things to say about my sojourn here.”
Shadowheart’s lip curled. “Sadly for you, the stay will be short. My Lady is covetous, and I cannot deny her your soul much longer.”
“But you will deny her, won’t you?” He tilted his head back, face smug. “Because there’s so much about me that you want to know.”
Shadowheart softly chuckled, bringing her legs down and sitting up in her chair. “You are as full of yourself as they say. I suppose fucking a goddess – even one as pathetic as Mystra – can give you an inflated sense of self.”
“Are you jealous?” He raised his eyebrows. “Has Shar not taken you into her bed?”
Shadowheart scowled. “My Lady is a true goddess, she does not lower herself to sordid acts with mortals.”
He grinned, showing off a full set of teeth. “‘Sordid acts?’ I didn’t know the Sharrans were such prudes.”
She stood up and strode around the desk to loom over him. “I pity you, Mystran. How does it feel to watch your friends burn, as you hide in the piss and shit, waiting your turn?”
He lazily swept his eyes upwards, lingering over her body, to meet her gaze. There he was, on his knees, hands chained, daring to look up at her with those knowing brown eyes. All of a sudden she was taken by a burning desire within, originating at the crux between her thighs. Wary lest he notice her interest, she fixed him with a cold glare.
“I’m not for burning,” he spoke softly, “I’m too useful.” He raised his hands, crossed at the wrists, heavy with iron manacles. “Take these off, and I’ll show you what I can do. How I can help you.”
“You’re going to turn traitor to your goddess?” Shadowheart tilted her head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work a little harder to convince me.”
He shrugged. “I’ve long since parted with Mystra. Haven’t you heard?” He tutted. “Your spy network is left wanting.”
“And what of the earring?” She pointed at the scrap of silver on the ground.
Glancing at it, he gave a bitter smile. “A reminder of my mistakes.”
He was lying – of course he was lying. “You know we could never trust you,” she said.
“I was hoping we could speak rationally.” His voice dripped with conceit.
He was too comfortable, too confident. She had to shake it out of him. “All you can hope for,” she hissed, “is the release from a painful death.”
“You’re not going to question me?” For the first time, his voice and face betrayed a hint of concern, and she lapped it up.
She lowered her face to his and spoke quietly in triumph. “No. You are no threat. I don’t care about whatever plans you think you have – they will fail. You have lost.”
It was a lie; they were definitely going to question him properly. There was a whole division devoted to that. But she had to take the upper hand.
His eyes darted from side to side. “I can give you information–”
She straightened up and turned her back to him. “I won’t waste paper recording your lies, silver-tongued wizard.”
Her eyes traced the statue inlaid into the wall behind her chair. It was Shar, face half-obscured by a helmet, holding crossed swords, and circled with a large halo of gold. Shadowheart stood proud beneath her goddess’ gaze. How good it felt to be her lady’s favourite. And with the beloved of Mystra at Shadowheart’s mercy, she could only rise in Shar’s estimation.
Shadowheart snatched up the execution list and turned to brandish it above Gale’s head. “I’ve already written your name down. These are your final hours.” Throwing the paper behind her onto the desk, she continued. “Make your peace with your goddess, if she’s still listening.”
His stare was heavy, holding her with a look. “There must be something I can do for you.” He shook his head. “Anything.” His voice was earnest now. “I am at your service.”
Tearing her eyes away, she made a show of contemplating the room. “Hmmm.” She took up a casual tone, showing how she savoured her power over his life and death. “And what could you possibly offer me?” She spat out the last word, “Heretic.”
Slowly, he drew his gaze over her body again, and with a low voice spoke. “How about some ‘sordid acts’? I can make you feel good, better than you’ve ever felt before.”
It wasn’t the first time Shadowheart had been propositioned by one facing Shar’s wrath. But the way Gale smirked as he undressed Shadowheart with his eyes, totally unabashed and undaunted, sent a quiver through her. The smouldering flames of her desire leapt up. An image of Gale naked and splayed out below her as she took her pleasure flashed through Shadowheart’s mind.
She masked her lust and kept a cool tone. “You think you’re good enough to put off your execution for a few more hours?”
“As I said: better.” He shrugged. “My tongue is well practised, and has satisfied a goddess, amongst others.”
Shadowheart was intrusively wet now, underwear sticking to her skin. She wanted to crush his smirking face between her thighs.
“An inferior goddess,” she said. “But why not? I’ll let you try.”
Shadowheart showed him just how mundane this all was for her. Leaning back against the cold hard sarcophagus, she maintained eye contact with him as she unbuttoned the front of her robes. She pulled them apart to reveal a deep v-neck undershirt, and her underwear. Hooking her thumbs into the fabric she pulled the soaked underwear down to her ankles in one swift movement. Flicking them off her feet, she opened her legs. Cold air rushed against her bare skin. The thrill of exposing herself sent tingles of pleasure through her – cunt aching with need, nipples pressing hard against her top. Gale looked ever so slightly taken aback by her brazen action, but only for a moment, as his face settled into a wicked smile, tongue licking his lips as he focused on her dark mound of curls. With her finger, she gestured for him to approach. He shuffled forward on his knees, hands locked before him, until his face hovered just in front of her, nose almost touching her curls. She felt his breath against her, and she tensed in anticipation, hands grasping the stone either side of her.
A moment passed, and she scowled at him. “What are you waiting for?”
He tilted his head back to look up at her. From this angle, his mouth was obscured by her mound. All expression came from his deep brown eyes, which continued to broadcast a superior attitude.
His mouth tickled her curls as he began to speak, “I was–mmmph!”
Shadowheart cut Gale off by grabbing him by the hair and pushing him gently but firmly forward. Just having contact, however basic, against the ache within, caused her head to fall back, and small moan to escape her lips. He didn’t fight her, nestling his face forwards. His nose slipped past her labia and pressed against her clit, and she moaned again through a smile. His tongue followed, drawing up through her folds to lap at her clit. She was already so aroused that the attention sent waves of pleasure through her. As the pressure began to build, he slowed down, and began to thread his tongue up and down in soft exploration, beard scratching at her thighs.
Shadowheart tugged at Gale’s hair, still in her grip, guiding his attention back to her clit. But he would not be led, and continued to tease her, licking her everywhere else but where she wanted. The less he touched her clit, the more it throbbed. She refused to show anymore frustration and let him continue. Dancing around her entrance, he penetrated her with a soft, shallow thrust of his tongue. She softly gasped. Again and again, he pushed further in. But it was not enough, he was nowhere near hitting the button deep inside, which was beginning to ache with a greater need than her abandoned clit.
“More,” she wanted to say, “harder, faster, deeper!” But she would never beg. Instead, she said, “Is this the best you can do?” and found her voice more breathless than she’d expected.
Gale pulled back and Shadowheart let his hair slide out of her grip, curious as to what he was going to say. Looking up at her, he was panting slightly, nose, mouth and beard glistening with her wetness. He brought up his manacled hands and wiped his face.
Dropping his hands, he addressed her with a voice sharp with command. “Turn around.”
For a moment she was speechless. How dare he address her in such a way? Her mind scrabbled to find an appropriate chastisement, and before she knew it, she’d slapped him hard across the face, the crack echoing off the stone walls. He toppled sideways to the floor and grunted.
“I give the orders,” she sneered, but her voice sounded soft compared to his.
Gale used his manacled hands to prop himself back up to kneeling, and he threw his head back to get the hair out of his face. His cheek was bright red, on the opposite side to his scar. How Shadowheart longed to witness him cower – but he didn’t. In fact his eyes were bright, and he was panting harder than before, a blush spreading down his neck. He’d liked it. She was taken by surprise by how much that excited her own lust. It made her want to climb onto his lap and slap him again until he grasped both her hands and pinned her to the floor. But she would not sink to his level. Filthy heretic.
Meeting her eyes, he spoke levelly. “Turn around, please.” And he bowed his head slightly, before his eyes flicked up to her with a sly look, adding, “Unless it’s all getting too ‘sordid’ for you.”
She narrowed her eyes. She knew what he was doing – of course she knew! – but her pride had been challenged and her cunt was yearning for more. Reminding herself that he was the one on his knees – chained, debased, servicing her – she reassured herself that whatever she did, it was her decision. She was the one in charge.
With the sweetest voice she said, “Since you want it so badly, little pet, and asked so nicely.”
Shadowheart glanced at his manacles – still secure. With a last look at Gale, her eyes lingering on the sheen of sweat from his neck down to the top of his chest, Shadowheart turned around. Planting both hands on the desk, she leaned forward ever so slightly, her arse propped up. From here she had a close-up view of the writhing figures carved into the sarcophagus, begging for release from their torment. Shadowheart heard Gale get to his feet and was instantly on alert.
Turning back, she snapped, “What are you doing? You don’t get to fuck me.”
He was above her for the first time, taller than she’d expected. “Not to worry, I just need to make an adjustment – if you’ll permit me.”
His hand pressed lightly on her back, urging her to lean further down. Frustrated with need, titillated by what was to come, Shadowheart let herself be pushed down until her face and upper body were flat against the scattered papers. Her breasts were uncomfortably squashed against the cold stone. Resting her face on her hands, she told herself it was fine – he was pleasuring her. He would get no release. She thought of the erection he must have, straining uncomfortably at his clothes, the tip leaking. If it were the other way around – if he’d captured her – would he make her lick his leaking cock, bury in deep into her throat until she choked?
Shadowheart’s arse was still covered by her robe, but with a swift motion Gale threw the skirt aside and cold air rushed against her skin. She breathed in sharply. Her most intimate parts – her arsehole, her cunt – were bare to him, vulnerable, as he towered above her. Did she hear him quietly chuckle? She should put an end to this now! Stand up, cover herself, and walk out, without giving him a second glance. She’d send for the guards, and never be alone in a room with him again. But this imperative flittered across her mind, and she did not take it up. Instead she simply lay there, and let him slide his leg against hers, pushing her legs further open. He could see everything. He could smell her, wet as she was and continuing to leak, sticky on her thighs. And now he would taste her again, all of her. Hearing him get to his knees once more, she braced herself.
A warm hand pushed her arsecheek aside, and a wet tongue slid along her crack, in one long lick upwards, from the entrance to her cunt to her arsehole. Shadowheart bit her hand rather than cry out. Feeling Gale’s face press into her arse, he began to lick her hole, softy at first, then more firmly and rhythmically. No one had ever done this for Shadowheart before. She was surprised at how good it felt, pulsations of pleasure flowing towards her cunt and clit. Gale’s hand went between her thighs, and she twitched at the briefly cold touch of his manacles on her leg. His thumb slipped inside her cunt, while long fingers began stroking through her folds, teasing her clit. Delicious heat engulfed her body as his hands and mouth steadily worked the pleasure out of her. There was no more stifling her mouth, and she began to moan into her hands. His fingers worked faster on her clit, and she could feel herself building to a climax. She longed for him to press deeper into her cunt, and found herself lifting one leg to give encourage deeper access. As she did so, she propped her chin up onto her hands, leaving a trail of spit. Looking ahead, she caught sight of the statue of Shar and her stomach clenched.
It was little comfort that her goddess’ eyes were screened by a helmet, because Shadowheart knew that Shar saw all. She was witnessing her favourite, lying prone, mewling and writhing under the power of a Chosen of Mystra. From the low angle, Shar’s mouth appeared down-turned in grim judgement over the scene. The shudder of humiliation that ran through Shadowheart only served to heighten the keen pleasure that was permeating her entire body. She was a blasphemer, bent over in front of a Mystran as he ate Shadowheart’s arse in front of her goddess. His tongue had been inside all of Mystra’s secret places, and now they were inside Shadowheart. His fingers were flicking her clit so fast she was about to break. It was so wrong, and it felt so good. Closing her eyes against the statue, she pushed herself further into the desk and reached back with one hand to pull her arsecheek further open, willing his tongue deeper, as her face burned with shame. “Please,” she almost whispered, “I’m so close,” but she just bit her hand again.
All at once, Gale stopped and pulled away. No! You bastard, you bastard! On the edge of release, Shadowheart felt her bliss fall out of reach. A whimper escaped her. Her very core was screaming for his touch. Her arse and cunt were left wet and cold the empty air. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she wiped the spit from her chin. Then she pushed herself up, robe falling back down across her arse and legs. She waited another moment for the shakiness in her limbs to recede. The last thing she wanted to do was turn and face him, to let him see her red face and the need in her eyes. But she would not let him win. Gathering what little dignity she had left, she turned around.
Gale was standing up, a couple of feet away from her. Behind his manacled hands, she could see the bulge in his trousers. His face was as she imagined hers to be: flushed, eyes burning. The difference between them was that she could detect no hint of shame in his face, only that unshakable self-assurance. It was infuriating. Not trusting herself to speak yet, Shadowheart simply gave him a look of utter hatred. Unperturbed, he approached the desk. She leaned out of the way, as he eyed the papers on her desk. She was stunned, locked in place, watching him.
“Aha!” He said softly, picking up the execution list and scanning to the end. He replaced it on the desk, before reaching over to dip the quill in ink and offer it to her. “Cross out my name, and I’ll give you what you want.”
She ought to have been outraged by his audacity. Ought to have laughed in his face and had him thrown out. But now he was the one standing over her, his gaze steady, her intimate fluids soaking his beard and his fingers. He had her. She wanted what he offered, more than anything in that moment. Forgive me, my Lady of Loss. Shadowheart took the quill. Scratching it across the paper with clumsy fingers, the ink blotted and leaked across Gale’s name, also half-obscuring the name above.
She threw the quill down, ink staining her fingers, and straightened up. Finding her voice, she demanded, “Back on your knees, heretic.”
He stepped backwards and showed his palms, crossed over as they were in the manacles. “As my lady commands.”
As he knelt down in front of her, Shadowheart made the decision to lower herself with him. She’d already sunk so low, she might as well get as much as she could – for she wanted his touch to go deeper. With her back to the cold stone, she sank down to the floor, pushed her arse forward, and let her legs fall apart. Her swollen lips were open to him.
She gazed at him with naked desire. “Finish me.”
There was no smirk or smug look from him now. His own need radiated from his eyes, as he softly bit his lip. Leaning forward he propped his manacled hands on the floor with a clink, and stretched out his body behind him. He shuffled forward until he mouth was pressed against her again. She sighed and lightly rested her hand in his dark hair. He began with gentle licks, up and down, before focusing the tip of his tongue on her clit. His manacles scraped on the ground, and then his finger found her entrance again. This time it was his index finger and it went deeper than his thumb. Bucking against him, she asked for more, and he obliged her with another finger, pressing against her inner walls, against the deep knot of nerves that quivered within. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, not caring how loudly she was crying out. Pushing herself further down and angling her arse up, she drove herself against him.
Gripping his hair she gasped, “Fuck me Gale. Fuck me like I’m your goddess.”
As her free hand scrabbled for purchase, it caught something small hard and cold on the ground. Opening her eyes, she saw it was Gale’s earring, the symbol of Mystra. Shadowheart closed her fist around it. Her clit was on fire and she closed her eyes again as she began to shudder towards her peak. Gale began pushing harder and faster and deeper in her cunt, hitting her spot over and over. The image of Shar, disgusted, flashed across Shadowheart’s mind. Squeezing the earring, Shadowheart felt the sharp point digging into her skin. She deserved the pain. She was a filthy blasphemer, and she would have to pay for her sins. Such thoughts sent her over the edge. The climax began at her clit and seared in a line deep into her cunt, which spasmed with white hot ecstasy, again and again, contracting around his fingers. It was perfect bliss.
Gale slowed his actions, seeing her through the last tremors of orgasm. And at last, he stopped. She stared ahead, unseeing, body trembling, as she panted for air. It wasn’t clear how much time passed, as she half-sat, half-lay against the sarcophagus, wrapped up in the lingering euphoria.
Finally, Shadowheart came back to herself. She became aware of the hair in her face and the sweat down her back. In an instant she saw herself as Shar saw her: weak and sprawling, at the mercy of an enemy. At some point Gale had got himself back up to kneeling, and was eyeing Shadowheart with dark amusement. The humiliation washed coldly over her. Pulling her robes closed she discovered the earring still lodged in her palm, a streak of blood mixing with black ink. Casting the silver away, she wiped her hand on her robes and dragged herself up, turning away from Gale. She smoothed the hair out of her face. The statue of Shar loomed above, and Shadowheart felt the weight of judgement upon her. I will make this up to you, my lady, I will show you that I am strong.
Without looking at Gale, Shadowheart turned around and strode past him to the door.
“Wait, what are you going to do with me?!” he called.
She swung the door open and gestured to the two Dark Justiciars outside. “Take him back.”
She stepped aside as the two armoured acolytes marched in. They yanked Gale to his feet. He put up no resistance as they manhandled him to the exit. Shadowheart felt Gale’s gaze upon her as he passed, and she was compelled to glance up. His face was questioning – there was that hint of concern again. It flooded her with satisfaction. She curled her lip and shrugged one shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something but she spun around to head back inside. He was led away, and the door closed with a thump. Let him be tortured with the uncertainty of his fate.
Striding to her desk, Shadowheart pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Taking up the quill she furiously hammered out a new execution list with only one name: Gale of Waterdeep. Inking the quill again, she went to sign the document, but her hand lingered in the air. She felt the weight of the goddess’ stare behind her back. He was a heretic, his goddess the sworn enemy of her own, he needed to be dealt with. And yet her hand continued to hover over the page. Drip. A fat drop of ink slid off the tip of the quill to sink into the page. Inexorable brown eyes and a voice deep with confidence flashed across her mind. My tongue is well practised, and has satisfied a goddess. Shadowheart had never felt such intense physical pleasure before – not at her own hands, and not at anyone else’s. Her thighs and legs were still trembling. How could she remove this man from the world, when he had such skills to offer? Because he was dangerous. He knew how to get what he wanted. She felt a thrill of fear at the thought of what he might get her to do, if she found herself begging at his feet for more. Drip. Another spot of ink fell, marring the paper. It was ruined. Setting her quill down, she crumpled up the document and threw it away, before taking up another piece of paper. She inked her quill again.
The question she found herself asking was: how much penance would be required to keep him alive for another day?