Dishonored.

By Brenna Lyons.

Dedicated to...

Second chances and dreams that come true in odd ways.

About the card:.

Tarot Card: Six of Pentacles.

The 6 of Pentacles is a wonderful card for this story. It is the card that exemplifies having/not having. On many levels, the characters have/don't have certain things. Jurel is a prince. He has power and knowledge of the intricacies of lovemaking. Juvia is a dishonored woman in her own culture and a slave in his. She's been denied the right to experience s.e.x. In short, he has everything, and she has nothing...on the surface. As you will learn, even Juvia has many things of value, if Jurel only thinks to request them of her.

This card is one of teaching and learning, and it's not hard to see how that applies here. But, it is also a card that denotes dominating/submitting or deference. Though she is a deadly force in battle, Juvia is not the typical priestess of Fion. This is a woman who is most happy bending to the whims of an enemy prince.

Chapter One.

Wos 11th, Ti 10-449.

*uvia cursed as the mare stumbled, throwing herself away and rolling to her feet, taking down another Lengar soldier with the precision blows her mother taught her to deliver. She didn't look for the battle groups. Even if they realized she'd lost her mount, none of them would come to help her. She was expendable, unwanted, dishonored. Not even worthy to be a part of a battle group, Juvia offered unsolicited cover for her mother's group, cover no one would note, no one would thank her for. J Another Lengar beast came at her, and she cut him down with ruthless efficiency. She sprinted for the tower, toward the troops that bore her mother's stamp, ducking a blow and taking down another soldier.

Juvia was an excellent warrior, equal even to Mother Leiana, though no one had whispered that in well over a year. If circ.u.mstances were different, she might one day have demanded a trial for leadership from Leiana or her daughter, Deliya. Yes, she was death personified with a sword in hand. If only that were enough, she would be mounted on a buck instead of the lame mare, wearing her mother's stamp proudly instead of plain armor.

But, she was dishonored. She cut down another Lengar soldier with a grunt of frustration. She was worthy to kill men, but never to love them.

All for a foolish wish! Juvia had believed in love once-a mad desire to take Loric as her mate. She'd asked him to challenge her, intent on conceiving...

She tried to push away memories that would not be silenced. He'd used her love against her. He'd tricked her and failed her at challenge. His look of disdain when she'd cried out still haunted her on the coldest, bitter nights-followed by his look of triumph when Mother Leiana congratulated him for being the first male to fail a priestess in over a decade.

Juvia stopped short as her mother blew the retreat, her heart pounding. Unless she moved quickly, she'd be left behind. Changing direction, she ran for two soldiers mounted on small male hottel.

They stared at her, dumbstruck at the sight of a lone enemy soldier charging them on foot. She bit back a peal of hysterical laughter. It would work. By the Mother, this mad escapade would work!

For one precious moment, the last year fell away. She was free, strong, a warrior in her element.

Then they fell on her in force, coming from all sides at once. Juvia shrieked in fury and frustration, hacking at the incoming troops, fighting through the burn in her arms and lungs.

A battle cry rattled her nerves. The Lengar soldiers parted, and a great, dark war-buck surged toward her with a rider that could only be Len Himself on its back.

Juvia gasped, scurrying a few steps back then planting her feet and preparing to fight him. She gauged his charge, antic.i.p.ating his turn and slice, deflecting his blow. A year ago, her mother would have taken pride in that move. Today...

She forced her mind back to the battle. He turned and came for her again. Juvia rebuffed him. On the third pa.s.s, he didn't turn aside. Her dive came too late. The buck's shoulder connected and threw her; she landed hard, the Lengar soldiers piling onto her, disarming her and dragging her to her knees. Her helm was dragged off.

She looked to the madman who'd bested her, her breathing labored as he pulled off his own helm. He was beautiful, terrible, hard to look at.

"Prepare the slave," he ordered, a cold smile curving his lips.

Juvia felt her heart stutter. Slave? Dear Mother, he means me!

She searched the far hillsides, hoping against all hope that her sisters would resume the battle for her. They would attempt to free any other priestess. Mother Leiana sat her buck with the other group commanders at her side. Juvia's eyes settled on her mother, and she held her breath, waiting for the call to resume. They turned away.

She closed her eyes, sinking into the hands holding her, dizzy in the enormity of her situation. They'd abandoned her-again. She wasn't worth continuing the battle to save. They were probably glad to be rid of her. They probably determined that life as a slave was more than her due.

"Strip her," the dark warrior commanded.

Juvia met his eyes, swallowing a groan at the jaglin stamp on his black armor. Jurel! She dropped her chin to her chest, beyond caring as her armor was taken away.

Jurel watched the captured priestess bring food to his men, chuckling at the sight of one of the proud laid so low. She was nude save the plain bra.s.s slave rings that circled her neck, waist, wrists and ankles; connected with a series of leather straps that hobbled her so that she couldn't run or fight.

He sipped the iri brandy in his goblet, considering her. It had surprised him that she' d bowed to this degradation. Most of Fion's b.i.t.c.hes would have stood silent and uncooperative or fought bitterly until his patience fled and he killed them.

Perhaps she hoped her sisters would one day save her. His smile widened. It was a futile wish, and she would soon learn it.

His men were getting rowdy, the thrill of victory and ample drink mixed with the promise of entertainment working its magic on them. As if reading his thoughts, General Fil grasped a handful of priestess t.i.t as she leaned across him with a plate of food.

She stilled, and Jurel set his drink aside, antic.i.p.ating the coming scene. The witch would protest, perhaps striking Fil. Jurel would enjoy beating her pale backside while his men held her down then watching while one after another took a turn with her, breaking her spirit.

It didn't happen. She leaned closer to Fil, brushing her nipple over his lips. The room went nearly silent in shock as the general sucked at her. Her eyes closed in pleasure. His men moved closer, watching as Fil moved from breast to breast, arousing her with noisy vigor.

Jurel watched as well, stroking his fingers over his lengthening c.o.c.k absently. Such a display was unheard of, which made seeing it a sensual dream unfolding.

The woman cried out softly, her body shuddering hard; and Jurel took to his feet. He made it to her in four long strides, fisting his hand in her hair and dragging her off of Fil. Her cry of pain disappeared into his mouth. She met him avidly, pa.s.sion unleashed, her tongue sparring with his, the scent of her arousal driving him near mad.

Jurel tore his mouth from hers, cursing under his breath. What game was this? "You want my c.o.c.k?" he challenged her.

Her emi eyes half-closed on a sigh. "Yes," she whispered.

"We shall see how much you want it."

She licked her lips. "How much?" she repeated in a thick voice.

He pulled her along to his seat by the grip on her hair, forcing her to her knees as he sat. Jurel unfastened his trousers one-handed and pushed them down his thighs. He pulled his dagger and set it aside then drew her face down until her nose was buried in the curls surrounding the base of his aching c.o.c.k.

She gulped in lungfuls of air heavy with his musk greedily then pressed her lips to his hardening sac.

"I have heard of a pleasure your women give," he informed her. "You will serve me that way. If you refuse or fail me, you will die. If you please me..." He smiled widely. "I will make certain you are stuffed full of c.o.c.k." Every one of my men until you beg for mercy and then some-starting with me.

She nodded, seeming uncertain for the first time, frightened. That was another expression he never thought he'd see on one of their G.o.ddess's chosen.

Jurel placed the blade to her neck artery in warning. "Begin."

At first, she licked at him, bathing his c.o.c.k with her sweet tongue, exploring him from base to tip. She met his eyes, gathering the slight release from the cleft in the head with the tip of her clever pink tongue. He bit back a groan, forcing his eyes open when he wanted to lay his head back and let her take him to bliss.

She waited, watching him, though he couldn't seem to decipher what she waited for. In a moment of clarity, he realized her plight. Her hands were bound to her waist, unable to be raised above mid-chest, and any move to capture him without the use of them would carry the risk of injury.

He released her hair, keeping his dagger at her throat and his gaze locked with hers. He moved the head of his c.o.c.k to her lips, tensed to kill her if she thought to bite. Her lips parted, and she sucked in the head. Jurel held his breath, letting it out on a gasp as she took in more of him, nearly two-thirds of his length in a single stroke. Her eyes closed as she pulled back and took him again.

Jurel grasped her hair again. "Look at me," he demanded. He would have his fill of her, and he would look in those stunning green eyes while he did it.

She obeyed him, holding his gaze as she took him shallow and deep, over and over, the heat of her mouth better than he'd dreamed by far. No wonder the Fion's males allowed themselves to be ruled by their women... Not that Jurel would dream of accepting it, but the return wasn't a pittance.

He thrust against her, his hips and hand forcing nearly all of him into her, mimicking the deep thrusts into other depths he would taste. First this and then her sheath.

General Fil appeared at his side, taking the dagger from his hand and allowing Jurel to wrap both hands in her hair.

His men crowded around, shoulder to shoulder, some stroking themselves, some shivering in the rising musk. General Fil started the cadence, and the soldiers matched the beat, stomping in time with his thrusts. Before long, other gasps were echoing his.

Jurel knew that she would be pressed into performing this act for many of the men watching, simply based on his reactions to it. If he weren't heir- If she'd been taking Fil into her mouth instead of him, one of the other men might already be inside her, but she was his until Jurel tired of her and handed her over for their enjoyment.

His mouth went dry; his mind protested his need to climax even as the tightness in his sac announced that there would be no holding back. Jurel thrust deep, roaring out his release, his seed rushing into her mouth.

He went still, his eyes wide, as she swallowed once, then again-pressing the swelling head of his c.o.c.k hard against the ridge of her palate. General Fil misinterpreted his reaction and moved to kill her; but Jurel was there first, his hand fisted around the other man's wrist.

"No," he growled. So good! By Len's name, she had best scream for me when I stimulate her, or I will kill her myself.

He lessened, and she released him, looking at the dagger in Fil's hand nervously. Jurel urged her to her feet and brought her mouth to his, tasting his possession of her. Her kiss was urgent, her nipples hard points against his tunic. He pulled her back over his lap until he felt the damp heat of her core through his trousers. He stroked his fingertips along her seam, smiling at the sucre weeping from her.

She kept her eyes open, no doubt afraid to close them after his warning. He brought his fingertips to his mouth, savoring her flavor, nodding as her breathing hitched.

"You have pleased me-for now," he informed her. Jurel pushed her at Fil. "Tie her down. No one touches her without my leave."

He dragged off his tunic and dropped it to the floor, his eyes locked on the skittish witch as his soldiers parted for her pa.s.sage, their eyes hungry. But first, she would be his. Len alone torture her if she played the part of Fion's own now that she'd enflamed him.

Chapter Two.

*uvia laid where the Lengar general pointed her, shuddering that he'd led her to the sacred circle. She was back again, accepting a dishonor greater than the one already heaped upon her when she failed at challenge in this very spot. J She ground her teeth at that. What did she care if her dishonor was deeper? She'd been denied the taste of a man's body; she would always be denied that joy-by her own people.

These Lengar soldiers cared nothing about her dishonor. They could use her until they killed her and only give her joy such as she'd never known. Already, their prince had introduced her to one of the "forbidden pleasures" she would not have learned with Fion's Children-pleasures she should have learned after her challenge, had she pa.s.sed that test. She hadn't.

Juvia looked at the men, inhaling more of their pungent musk as the general released the bindings on the rings and rebound them to the challenge bolts in the floor, leaving her spread-quartered. The taste of Jurel's seed echoed that musk until her core seemed to burn against the cool air in the sanctuary.

"Looser," their prince instructed. "I want her to have enough play to buck against me. "

She looked to him in surprise, her mouth watering as he removed the last of his clothing and the general loosened her restraints.

Oh, yes. She would give him what he wanted. The Lengar would get satisfaction from her. Unlike her sisters, Juvia had no honor to uphold by taking their bodies in stony silence. She would seek her own pleasure and vent every cry of pain or climax.

Sacrilege, some portion of her mind protested.

Juvia pushed the thought away. She'd been abandoned by her people-first by the man she loved and then by the rest. At first, her exile had been social; she was an outcast -worthy enough to tend animals, crops and the rare dirty-faced child, unworthy of a man's touch, home and children of her own. She was only here with the Lengar because she'd been granted nothing better than the lame mare in battle, a ragged creature not even one of their men would have ridden.

The steady beat of boots on stone startled her, and Juvia looked toward the Lengar prince, knowing the noise heralded his approach. Her breathing hitched.

He strode to her, naked and aroused, his eyes locking with hers and promising that he would not leave her until he'd mastered her. Her body throbbed in time with the beat, and she tipped her hips, offering herself to be mastered. Her hunger for the idea should have repulsed her, but it didn't.

He laid over her, stealing a bit of the musk from the pulse point at her throat. His voice rumbled against her. "You are mine, little witch. Once I have tasted you, I will sate myself in you. Do you understand?"

She nodded, gasping for air.

He clenched her cheeks between his fingertips. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He stared at her, his eyes demanding something she could not name.

He waits for me to address him with some t.i.tle of respect. But, what? He is not my prince nor a common general. The obvious answer became clear to her. She was being made over into a Lengar bed slave. "Yes, Master."

He nodded curtly, though he seemed surprised that she'd uttered the term. How little he understood about her!

Jurel's mouth closed over hers, and she gave herself over to the feeling, groaning in antic.i.p.ation as his c.o.c.k pressed hard to her mound. He pulled away, sending her that same suspicious look he had when he'd kissed her the first time.

The stomping seemed to intensify as he worked his way down her body. Juvia tensed then reminded herself that this wasn't the challenge. His mouth latched onto one aching nipple, and she choked out a cry and arched up for more.

The prince's look of shock wasn't lost on her. He went still as if something in her manner confused him. She reasoned that everything about her likely confused him. Juvia was hardly the typical priestess.

"Please," she begged in tones too low for even his general to hear. "Please-Master."

He moved to the other nipple, his suckling sending waves of heat to her core. He bit at her, and she screamed, only a.s.suring herself that there was no shame in it this time when his men cheered him.

His mouth seemed to be everywhere. Juvia fisted the ties in her hands; writhing beneath him as he explored every fingerwidth of exposed skin save the center of her that was calling for him so insistently.

The other men were immaterial; they could do whatever they wished with her-once the prince had finished with her. It wouldn't matter then. Juvia felt certain that he'd leave her a sh.e.l.l, mindless as a born imbecile in pleasure. Everything faded away save the throbbing beat and Jurel's mouth, until her entire body vibrated in time and whimpered pleas left her lips.

Then he was there, at the core of her being and ravenous for her. She stiffened, incapable of thought as sensation engulfed her; so many sights, scents and feelings that not a single one made an impression on her for longer than a heartbeat before being drowned out by another.

She screamed, but a roar eclipsed even that. Then there was silence. Her panting breaths echoed off the stone walls so perfectly, she prayed the rest hadn't been a dream.

Juvia forced her eyes open, looking at the stunned soldiers in confusion. None of them spoke or stomped their feet. They shifted nervously, casting frightened looks at her.