Chapter Text
Act I
I entered the central courtyard, blinking in the bright daylight. I wasn’t accustomed to spending too much time out in the sun. It was odd for my sister to send a servant to ask me to come see her, rather than just coming to me herself. I was curious what was on her mind.
“Yes, Dyrine, you asked to speak- ?”
My eyes adjusted to the light, and I stopped mid-sentence. My sister stood in front of our ancestral shrine, dressed in one of the short, easy-to-move-in tunics she favoured. Her copper curls were rippling in the wind. The shrine itself was hard to miss – a marble altar surrounded by flowers, gifts and offerings before a larger-than-life statue of my great-grandmother. She bore a sword and bundle of grapes in her hands, and wore a dress of brilliant blue speckled with golden stars. Her eyes were pure gold, and I always felt they were looking down at me with disapproval. In her shadow, almost hidden, was a smaller black stone idol of the Conquering Goddess, Anet.
Beside the altar I saw a fresh offering, an ornate golden bowl filled with wine. Arranged behind Dyrine were our mother and her concubines, attended by nearly half the remaining household. There had been no mention of that. Despite my many other flaws, I am not stupid, and quickly realised what was going on. Something landed at my feet, glinting in the sun. An archaic bronze short-sword. I looked up at my sister, and felt myself tremble.
“Please, don’t.”
She gave me a pained look.
“I’m sorry, Maessa. Please pick up the sword.”
I backed away. My mother’s harsh voice cut through the air.
“Pick it up, you stupid girl! At least show some dignity."
No way. I turned around, but the door was blocked by one of mother’s retainers. Her corded arms crossed over her chest, and she looked down at me with pity. My eyes darted around the courtyard, finding no way out. The present slaves, guests, and concubines looked on with expressions ranging from second-hand embarrassment to eager anticipation. Dyrine’s footsteps echoed as she advanced across the mosaic floor, picking up the blade. She took my wrist and forced it into my hand. The grip seemed much too small. She walked back and drew her own. Mother looked to the shrine, at the great statue and the idol of the foreign goddess.
“All are present to witness. You may begin.”
She might as well already have announced the victor. Dyrine was the very model of Kamandreian aristocracy; tall, toned, and a born sailor and warrior. Unfortunately for everyone involved, she had been born a sailor and warrior a few months after me. Until now, the heir my mother had been stuck with was a pale, pudgy shut-in who was so scared of the world she could only experience it through reading. Not someone fit to be head of one of the thirteen great families. Oh, and who also didn’t know one end of a sword from the other.
Before I had processed the words, Dyrine had stepped forward and easily knocked the sword out of my hand. Instinctively, I tried to back away again, but she grabbed my arm and threw me to the ground. Taking me by the hair, she dragged me screaming to the altar and pulled me up to lie atop it. One hand around my throat, she looked at me, breathing heavy.
“Maessa, please say you surrender.”
I really, really should have done that. The outcome was decided, it had never been in doubt. Still, I wasn’t prepared for what would come after. I struggled and clawed at her wrist, like a kitten trying to use an anvil as a scratching post. She sighed, and pressed down until my face turned red and my movements erratic. I lasted only moments. Very soon I was clutching at her forearm, gasping and nodding my head. Dyrine loosened her grip.
“I take that as a ‘Yes, I surrender’?”
I nodded as hard as I could. She exhaled and let go of my throat. All of this, from my entrance into the courtyard on, had taken only a few minutes. Yes, Dyrine had been brutal, but her primary concern was efficiency. The cruelty was just incidental. At least, it had been up until now.
I tried to plead with her, but couldn’t yet find my voice through my swollen throat. Given that I was still alive, my sweet sister now had to soil my dignity and reputation so thoroughly that I could never be a threat to her. That was the worst part of all this. I already was no threat, and she knew it as well as me, but tradition is tradition, so she was going to do it anyway. All because she was my stupid, stupid sister who always had to do exactly what was expected of her.
Traitorous snake. While my mother was quite clear when it came to her disappointment in me, I had always been under the impression that Dyrine was on my side. She was unfailingly polite and deferential with me, and did much to make my life easier. She’d accompany me out of the house to ease my anxieties, talk to people for me, and intimidate away anyone who thought my physique and demeanour made me an easy target. Later on, when I put together the pieces, I realised that polite and deferential were not the same as being on my side. Neither was sheltering me from my troubles and anxieties necessarily doing me a favour.
I felt my eyes start to water. Dyrine picked up the offering bowl, then drained the whole thing in one go. Well, that wasn’t entirely proper, but I doubt anyone cared much. Then she leaned over me, raised her blade up to my collarbones, and cut away my dress. It had been one of my favourites. The bronze blade easily tore through the delicate fabric. Oddly, the sensation of the cool breeze against my body had me feeling more exposed than all the eyes on me. Dyrine stared down at my body, tracing every curve with her eyes. She tossed aside her blade and pulled apart my thighs, then lifted her tunic. My stomach twisted. She was hard already.
I tried to cover myself with a scrap of my dress, but Dyrine pinned down my arm. Her tip was resting against me. The sensation felt like it was out of a dream, something absurd and unreal. She took me by the hip with her other hand, then thrust into me. Fuck, that hurt. I heard myself scream, voice rasping painfully against my bruised throat.
It’s not like this was my very first time – like any well-off Kamandreian young woman I had no need to take care of my urges on my own, and wasn’t shy about summoning a servant under my table or into my bed to help me concentrate or fall asleep. Still, those encounters had always been firmly under my control, and I never had anyone inside me before.
I squirmed and quivered and my sister’s grip on my hip tightened as she continued to thrust into me. My throat hurt with every hoarse moan or sob that escaped it. I could hear Dyrine gasp with each thrust as her movements became more and more intense. Her face was flushed a deep red, her eyes open wide. Fuck, she looked like she was enjoying this way too much. I was stretched around her, heat and pain coursing through my body from between my legs. How could she keep this going, on and on and on? Was it the wine? Was there something in it?
The growing slickness between my legs eased the pain, even if just a little. I found myself mewling beneath my sister’s looming form. It was pathetic. Hating myself for it, I felt a release and a trickle of warmth spilling onto my groin and stomach in rhythm with her thrusts. Tears streaked down my face as I failed to stifle a moan and tried to look away, but Dyrine took me by the jaw and made me face her.
I could smell the wine on her breath. Some dam or barrier had broken inside her, and she was smiling wide. With a few last, hard thrusts she came inside me, the warm fluid filling me until it spilled. She remained a few moments to regain her breath, then pushed away, leaving me sprawled over the altar staring up into the face of my great-grandmother’s statue, the golden orbs of its eyes looking down on me in disgust.
I kept still, lying on my back, occasionally letting out a quiet sob. Breathing still was not easy, and I knew this wasn’t over yet. I had to gather myself best I could. I felt metal on my neck as a collar was closed around it. I pushed myself off the altar and onto all fours despite the pain in my, well, everything.
I had no resistance left in me, and at this point did not care that my ready cooperation would disappoint my mother even more. She was already looking down at me in disdain anyway. Her concubines and the servants present were either studiously ignoring the whole thing, looking on pityingly, or giggling with each other. I saw the freckled and brown-haired slave-girl that most often warmed my bed biting her lips with her hand down between her legs, and decided it was best to just look at the ground as my cheeks flushed with humiliation.
The collar was a simple bronze thing, likely something that came with the purchase of a slave, and attached to it was a chain held by my dear sister. She gave it a tug, and I obediently followed her onwards and out of the house. The ancestors and household knew of the new arrangements regarding inheritance, but the rest of the city still had to be told. To that end the new heir i.e. my beloved sister would parade me through the streets naked and on all fours like an animal, battered and bruised, with tears leaving streaks of ruined make-up down my cheeks and her seed still leaking down my thighs.
All my screaming had already attracted a little crowd outside the gates, and while this sort of inheritance dispute was not a common occurrence, some already suspected what was going on. I bet the neighbours had already been counting down the days until it happened. Dyrine was greeted with congratulations and pats on the back, while I did my best to keep closely inspecting the ground and ignore any laughter and catcalls. Someone even offered to buy me, but to my relief my sister declined politely. I suppose with only two children a family can’t afford to sell one off, no matter how much of an embarrassment she is.
Thankfully, Dyrine was not willing to let things get truly ugly. There were plenty of catcalls and the like, but she firmly stopped anyone from laying a hand on me. That didn’t stop her from fully savouring the occasion herself of course. Was this sadistic streak new, or had I just not known her as well as I thought? She took her sweet time on her tour, stopping to chat with anyone even vaguely acquainted, showing off my bruised body with glee. She’d pull me up and cup my breasts, complaining to her friends how despite my weight they’d ended up rather small, or rub her toes against my shaft while telling an aunt how I spilled myself while being fucked like some cheap dockside whore, by my own sister no less. That was a bit hypocritical given she’d been hard as a pillar at the mere sight of me struggling on that altar, but I was in no state to point that out.
When she finally took me back home, the sun was well on its way to setting. In the courtyard she removed the collar and let me drop to the mosaic floor. She looked at my slumped form, sighed, then pulled me up and supported me as she led me staggering to my bed. Before she left, she ran a hand through my curls and told me; “Get some sleep, Mae.” Not “Maessa”, just “Mae”.