Toasting 03

My eyes burn with tears, my breath coming too quickly. I am all but suffocating on the need to cry, to break down completely. The many defeats of this night, Sven’s death, the Voltron Force’s capture, even hope itself destroyed, hadn’t been enough to let me abandon my pride. And yet several minutes spent in Lotor’s presence, tortured at his hands and knowing far worse was yet to come, and already I break. As painful as his fingers’ penetration had been, it was nothing compared to the sweet agony of his tongue.

I shudder and can barely hold back a sob, knowing my thighs run wet with not just blood but the reluctant juices of my arousal. I try to tell myself anyone would have reacted to so determined an assault, and yet I still hate myself for my reactions. For my body’s betrayal.

It is a betrayal I fear will happen again, Lotor far too experienced in wringing out reactions from a woman’s body. I can’t say it’s pleasure, I refuse to enjoy what he has done. But for all my fear and loathing, he’s proven my body is not immune, that even in the grip of pain and hate, he can make me feel something that leaves me floundering in darkness.

My body seems to hurt more now that Lotor is no longer teasing it. There’s the pain of my torn hymen, but also the unexpected sensitivity of my body. My nipples are stiff enough that they hurt, tingling every time they rub against the silk fabric of my garments. I feel restless and needy, trying to focus on the pain rather than the persistent needy ache between my legs.

Unwanted, hateful sensations, I stumble from the conflict of them. The strong arm of the priestess keeps me moving, the woman all but ready to drag me forward on my knees, She hasn’t had one kind word for me, barely looking at me as we leave Lotor behind. I should be more bothered by her lack of interest but shock keeps me from caring.

It’s that same shock that keeps me from speaking, blinds me to my surroundings. I don’t even attempt to map the route taken, the corridors of the castle looking far too similar in the darkness. I’m too busy giving in, the traumatic events of this day taking their toll on me. Numb inside and out, it’s that shock that keeps me from moaning in despair.

These wretched feelings won’t always keep at bay. Once the initial shock wears off I will be at their mercy. Instead I stay victim to these Drules, a prisoner among a people who are ruthless and care not one whit for those they prey on. I receive no kind word, no solace, no attempt at comfort from the two Drules who flank me. Not even from the woman, who drags me into a side room.

I stumble forward not because I want to, but simply because I no longer have the energy to resist. I all but collapse when she shoves me down onto the cold porcelain of a toilet, my legs trembling from the effort it had taken to remain upright for so long.

It’s not until she approaches me with a wet towel, her hand reaching to lift up the front flap of my skirt, that I truly react. “Please…” I say, trying to shrink away from her attempts to clean off my thighs. “Untie me.”

She ignores me, cleaning the blood off my skin. “I can do that myself.” I tell her, almost begging when she tries to spread my legs open. “Just free my hands….” I resolutely keep my legs locked together, forcing the priestess to use brute strength to pry them apart. Shame fills me, my face coloring with it as I am exposed to her piercing gaze. It is all the more humiliating when she tsks in reproach, her hand almost gentle as she sets about to cleaning between my legs.

I hiss then, flinching in reaction to the pain. Gentle though she tries to be, there is a part of me that is still sore, stinging sharply. Murky yellow eyes finally look at me, the woman’s eyes almost sympathetic now. It’s not strong enough to get her to set me free, but there appears to be an understanding passing between us.

Or so I think, my lips parting in shock. She doesn’t stop her gentle ministrations, but her tone is close to scolding.

“You made him angry.” She tsks. “You made him hurt you.”

I try to speak, but my anger all but renders me incoherent. She listens to me sputter, nodding her head as though she understands me. “It’s always difficult for women who are not Drule.” She continues, sighing. “Few if any of the other races understand the intricacies of being mated to a Drule male.”

“Its not something I care to learn.” I retort angrily. She merely nods as though I’ve said something expected.

“In time you will realize you must. It will make things easier for you, keep you from getting hurt as often.”

I shiver at that, at the words and the sad, weary look she wears. “If it means submitting, accepting what is being done to me, to the galaxy itself, then I will never….”

“He LIKES you.” She interrupts me. “He doesn’t want to have to hurt you.”

“But he did.” I’m not just talking about what he did with his fingers, or his tongue. I’m thinking of the deaths, and what he and his people will do to the rest of the galaxy now the Voltron Force no longer stands in Doom’s way.

“You will have to help yourself and him to be better.” The priestess tells me, and puts aside the cloth. “If you try, things will be better than the last king’s marriage.”

It’s strange, but I’ve never put any real thought to the woman who had married the dead King Zarkon. Some part of me cannot imagine that tyrant with a woman, though another part understands he had to have had one, if only to have sired Lotor.

“She was beautiful like you.” The woman supplies when I remain silent. “Blond and human. A good woman, a kind woman. Far too delicate to marry a Drule like the last king….” She sighs again, so sad in the moment. “Such a pity what happened….His highness Lotor was besides himself with grief…”

“What…happened to the last king’s….wife?” I don’t want to, but curiosity stirs in me. It is morbid, and I ask not because I want any reason to sympathize with Lotor, but seek more a justification of how monstrous these people really are.

“She angered the last king one too many times.” A pointed look now. “Killed her himself he did….forced the young prince to watch.”

I don’t ask for details, shuddering. The priestess pats my shoulder, though her words leave such action cold. “His highness Lotor likes you. You won’t share his mother’s fate, especially if you keep him happy.”

I’m sure the look on my face was unpleasant, expressing how distasteful I found just the idea of keeping Lotor happy. “I won’t.”

“You must!” She insisted. “It’s the only way…”

“I’d rather die.”

She was distressed, wringing her hands together. “His highness has a temper.” She warned me. “Almost as bad as his father’s. You won’t like when he is angry, especially when he is angry with YOU!”

“I have my pride.”

“You must toss it away.” It wasn’t the kind of advice I wanted, and it showed in my face. She sighed again, then stepped back. “There is no going back. Once you two are married, you are joined for life. There is no divorce, only acceptance…”

I refused to resign myself so easily, shaking my head no. “I will never accept him!”

“You accept or you’ll be unhappy.” She had walked over to the sink, and was rummaging through the overhead cabinet. “Maybe even die like his mother died.”

“Is that the only way for us to be free of each other?” I asked her. “For one of us to die…”

“Yes.” She turned, some kind of tube in her hand. “Drules are not like you humans. When we settle on a mate, that marriage lasts until one or both is dead.” Another piercing look. “It’s a good match for you. He like you, and want to make you his Queen. It not be so bad as his wife…”

“So you say.” I snort, disgusted. “He’s not only a pig, but a monster.”

She didn’t try to deny that, much to my surprise. “You can make him better. Learn how to handle him, to manipulate him to your advantage.” I just frowned in response, thinking Lotor beyond redeemable.

“Here.” She said, squeezing some kind of cream out of the tube. “This is soothing ointment. It will help heal the hurt, make it easier for the things that are to happen this night.”

“Wait…” I said, but she ignored me, rubbing the cream into the entrance of my body. Embarrassed to find yet another person’s fingers inside me, I shifted awkwardly about, but cannot avoid the cream being rubbed onto the parts that bother me the most.

“At the ceremony, drink whatever he gives you.” She told me. “It will help you deal with what’s to come.”

“I don’t….”

“You must.” She insisted firmly, and finished with the cream. She returned to the sink, the priestess setting about to washing off her hands. I remained on the toilet, exasperated, humiliated, and tired. I wanted this day over with, and yet knew that things were just getting under way. There was still this marriage ceremony to be held, and worse yet the actual consummation of vows. I wasn’t looking forward to any of it, downright scared of what would happen once Lotor put his skilled hands on me once more.

“I just want to go home.” I whispered to myself, wondering if I would ever see Arus again.

“Doom is your home now.” Came the answer. She’d return with another damp towel, and set about to cleaning my face. She’d also set to right my clothes, making sure the fit of it kept anything from actually showing. The man waiting outside of the bathroom had my outfit’s sash, the priestess retrieving it from him. She’d tied it around me so no one would ever know anything untoward had happened just by looking at me. I felt a hysterical laugh build up in my throat, not feeling at all better and all but panicking as I was led out of the bathroom, and through the corridors of the castle.

Lotor wasn’t waiting for us, having already gone inside the throne room. It didn’t matter to me either way. I was cringing at the noise coming from inside the room, the loud raucous cheering, the blatant celebrating the Drules were doing. I did not want to enter the room, did not want the sight of me to herald even more of that cheering. But with the priestess on one side of me, and that aide of Lotor’s on the other, I was all but strong armed into the throne room.

A trumpet sounded, lights flashing. Several people were taking photographs, and there was even a flimsy crew present. I was still blinking from the lights when the wild roars of approval began. I couldn’t understand all of what was being said, many of the people present screaming in the Drule’s language. But a few shouted in basic, hailing Lotor as King, lauding him for his long desired victory over Voltron and the rest of the galaxy.

I kept my gaze forward, trying to ignore the leers of the people staring at me as I was ushered towards a dais. It was a monument of gold, seated at the end of a long red carpet. Banners hung behind it, and even to the sides, all in Doom’s colors, the words written in the symbols of the Drule’s language.

There was even a few likenesses of the new King, Lotor’s profile etched in accurate detail on two flags. The colors of the room were predominately black and red, with some splashes of gold as an accent. No flowers decorated the tables, not on this dead world. But the tables were not empty, great feasts and fountains of drinks covering every available inch.

It wouldn’t be until after I was greeted by Lotor, that I would realize the true strangeness of the surroundings. That there was no Drule females present in the room, save for the aged priestess, and the witch Haggar. Every woman I saw, was human or a race close to it. And nearly all were slaves. Broken down, dressed in tatters for clothes, these women were often plucked off the floor, to be carried off to corners, or sometimes to be had right on the tables amongst the food. The men here barely cared to stop their cavorting, some too drunk to realize a ceremony was about to take place.

I was taken to the top of the dais, Lotor rising from his throne. He hadn’t bothered to put on his father’s crown, though he held what had to be Zarkon’s scepter. He handed it off to the aide, who stepped aside for Lotor to approach me. I felt the priestess give a gentle squeeze of my arm, and she hissed in my ear. “Don’t make him hurt you.”

Sound advice, but how could I possibly hope to follow it? Especially when Lotor was gripping my hair, forcing me to hold still for his kiss. The sly play of his tongue over my own? It made me flash back to what else he had done with his tongue, and it made me scream in anger. The approving cheers resounded through the cavernous room, Lotor breaking the kiss, and looking far to pleased with himself as he lowered us both to the throne.

I struggled, hating that I was seated on his lap. He kept one arm around my waist, effortlessly holding me to him. Someone handed him a goblet, the liquid a rich red color. My stomach turned queasy to see it, for I was wondering if that was the Drules’ infamous blood wine.

“A toast!” Lotor shouted over the raucous noise of the Drules. “A toast to my victory!”

The Drules went wild at that, many lifting up food and drink in acknowledgement. A satisfied look on his face, Lotor drank deeply of the goblet. When there was about half the drink left inside it, he pressed the goblet to my lips. I kept them close, not wanting to so much as taste whatever that was.

“Drink Allura! Drink in celebration of this night!”

Never is what I wanted to scream, but I refused to open my mouth to do so. Lotor’s eyes darkened in annoyance, and he began pinching my nose closed, cutting off my air until I opened my mouth with a gasp. Gagging, the drink went down my throat, though thankfully it wasn’t blood wine. Just some bitter tasting alcohol I immediately tried to cough up.

Lotor again kissed me, laughing when I jerked back. His eyes now deeply satisfied, were all on me as another Drule made his slow way up the dais. I recognized him as the priest from the corridor, the priestess hurrying forward to take the man’s arm. He carried a staff with a curved ruby end, while two younger boys followed, their eyes wide with excitement, their hands carrying incense containers. Already fragrant smoke poured thickly out of those containers, making my every breath full of that heady perfume.

Feeling dizzy and sick, I was still surprised when Lotor made no attempt to get up. Instead he lounged lazily on the throne, holding me securely against him as the priest and his attendants approached. The boys would begin chanting, a harsh guttural sound, as the priestess began anointing my face with spots of color. Lotor would receive the same treatment, his forehead, cheeks, and chin dotted with red and purple. I could only sit there bemused, having no idea what the significance of this meant.

The actual ceremony was conducted primarily in Drule, the priest doing one long prayer and poem after another. Occasionally he would wave the ruby center of his staff over our heads, and for some reason that would make the gathered Drules cheer. I kept looking towards the doors to the throne room, hoping, praying, desperate for the Voltron Force to barge in and save me from this reality.

But the doors remained close, the ceremony continuing. At one point, the priest touched the collar around my neck, blessing it like he would have a ring in a human’s ceremony. Lotor’s goblet was refilled, the same red colored drink inside it. Again he would force me to drink half of it, the taste horrible and far too strong.

I would recognize my name and Lotor’s among the priests’ many mutterings. The crowd seemed to chant prepared phrases in answer to what the priest asked, leaving me to realize he was asking them to bear witness to this union. They did so eagerly, raising whatever was at hand in toast as another kiss was forced upon me, Lotor all but purring as the priest announced in basic that the Gods now acknowledged the King and Queen’s union.

As damning as I felt those words to be, it was a million times worse the finality in which the priest spoke. Saying Lotor and I were man and wife, and that nothing and no one could ever put an end to the bond between us. Again that hysterical laugh built in me, the crowd of Drules’ voices reaching deafening proportions. I didn’t want to, but I leaned against Lotor’s chest, closing my eyes to fight a wave of dizziness. He nuzzled the side of my neck, his lips brushing kisses on my skin. I wondered how much longer he would control himself, or if he would even try. The fear I had seemed all too real, my humiliation would be that much worse if he were to rape me in front of this crowd. When he lifted me up, intent on carrying me down the dais and out of the room, I almost sagged in gratitude. Such was my relief that he would spare me the embarrassment of the crowd, that I didn’t even try to fight him on the way into his bedroom.

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