By now, Faye's legs were tired and her back was starting to ache. She desperately wanted to shift position; as if that would make her any more comfortable.
The stockade held her, bent horizontal at the waist, and the shackles around her ankles forced her into a wide stance. For a while, she thought that, perhaps, she might be able to pull her hands free, if she folded her thumbs just so. She had badly chafed her wrists trying. And if she'd succeeded, what then? The stockade was held shut by a heavy padlock, and her head was going nowhere.
A man approached. By Faye's count, he was the third to visit her since the sun was high. He was preceded by his stench, and his lurid laugh. He got up close. He pulled her hair aside and, holding her chin in his muck-stained fingers, lifted her head to get a better look at her face.
"Aren't you a pretty bird."
Faye wasn't sure if she was more disgusted by his words or the bitter smell of his breath. The man squeezed at her cheeks, trying to force her mouth open, as a lump began to swell in his breeches. Faye would have none of this. Sadly, she had gotten plenty of practice holding her mouth tight, and she surely wouldn't let this malodorous man be the first to pass her lips.
"Don't be frigid now, pretty bird. This is what you're 'ere for, 'ent it?"
Faye tried to move her head away, with what little movement she was afforded. She closed her eyes, and clutched her fists tight as if they were holding her own jaw shut. It was the only thing in the world that mattered, and no amount of pulling or prodding from the man's fat digits or his stiffening manhood would crack her open.
"Hmph. 'ave it your way." The man had been given no other choice but to accept Faye's stubbornness, thank the Gods. "May'aps me and the lads will come back your way after our drink. May'aps you'll be warmer then."
The man pressed his disgusting lips against hers, before finally leaving Faye in peace, his rotten taste still lingering about her mouth. She had, at least, bought herself time.
Faye, the seamstress, whose hair was like spun gold. The castle guard had come for her at dawn. Without warning or explanation, her door had been broken down, and she was ripped from her sleep, wearing naught but her white cotton night gown. Indifferent to her questions and protests, the guards then dragged her to the town square, where-upon the head guard simply proclaimed that, "by order of Queen Zorella, you are to be pilloried until such time as you are reformed."
This all seemed rather queer to Faye, who was not aware of any crime for which she might require reform. Alas, she would be granted plenty of time to reflect on that mystery.
The stockade was a recent installation, which had drawn much interest from the townsfolk. It stood on a small platform, 5 square feet of wood, raised a foot off the ground. At the centre of the front edge, rose a thick wooden pillar of about 3 feet, and atop it a horizontal piece with holes for head and hands. Heavy, metal shackles hung at either side of the platform in addition.
Its function was clear, if not its purpose. And now, it seemed, Faye had been selected as its first occupant.
The guards led her - or rather dragged her - up onto the platform. One guard held her about the waist, in the center of the platform, while two more pulled her ankles outwards to meet the cold iron shackles. Then, roughly gripping the back of her head, the guard pushed her neck down to meet the cut-out at the centre of the horizontal piece, forcing her to bend at the waist. Her wrists were pulled into the smaller cut-outs either side of her neck, and the mount was hinged closed over her neck and wrists. She heard the heavy metallic click as the padlock closed.
She was trapped.
And at that, the guards left her to her reform without another word. She had a mind to protest, to call after them - if only she could understand why she'd been put here. But would that have made this situation any more tolerable? Faye wasn't so sure.
Her night gown had been torn open not long after her installation, and what tatters remained offered little in the way of modesty. She never saw the man's face. She didn't even notice his approach. She just heard the tear of fabric, and felt his sweaty grip on her waist.
"Don't you dare!" Faye growled. But… or else what? What could she possibly do? "I'll… I'll call the castle guard! And they'll have you for raping." Or maybe, "when this matter has been straightened out and I am finally at liberty, I PROMISE you, I will find you, and I will CUT OFF your pathetic little manhood!"
To that, the man gave a derisive "hrm" and trudged away, sneering that she was a "fuckin' tease." That had been the day's first humiliation. Sadly, it was far from the last.
Few were brave enough to try anything in broad daylight. A glance here and there. A few, after making sure no one else was around to see, would risk a touch; only to be scared away by the surprising ferocity that hid within Faye's slight frame. But she knew once the sun set, the serfs would be filled with an ale-borne courage, and not so easily spooked.
Ale… Faye was so thirsty. She'd been locked up for hours, and all anyone seemed to offer to put in her mouth were their cocks. She had politely declined. She begged a passing young lad for a sip of his water, which he offered up in exchange for a squeeze of her breasts. After some thought, she begrudgingly accepted, and was grateful to find that he was too bashful to give her more than a gentle, timid touch.
But that sip was now too long since; back when the sun was high. Faye's poor back had to endure the sun's cruel, searing heat all the while; exposed as she was thanks to that wretched man. But now the sun had fallen behind the castle, and its shadow gave her a cool, merciful relief. It was like a gift, like comfort from the Queen herself.
Beautiful, elegant, benevolent Queen Zorella - who, once a year, would invite one lucky citizen to sup with her at the castle. It was said that, so taken were many of those visitors, that they chose to stay at the castle in the Queens employ. Faye had often fantasised about getting such an invite. What a blessing it would be to spend even one evening in the company of her Queen. And Faye knew that she would just jump at the opportunity to remain there. It was that fantasy that held Faye's spirit aloft through her current ordeal.
"Whore!"
Until that shrill accusation ripped her, so rudely, back to reality. From her platform, Faye was looking down on the shrivelled old woman, and found herself baffled by the utter disgust this woman seemed to have for her.
"In the middle of town, with your kitty out, like some cheap tart!"
The crone, who's name was Bette (not that Faye cared to ask) had much to say, it seemed. "No wonder they got you locked up here. Carryin' on like that!" The old lady was practically screaming with anger, " Have you no SHAME?!"
That hit Faye's last nerve. She felt as if she could explode. She explained to this awful woman that she was not, in fact, a whore, and that the only man she had 'known' was her beloved husband. Her sweet, gentle Yussef, who had given his life defending their Queen from barbarian invaders; or so Faye had heard. 'Regrettably,' the castle guard had told her, 'his bones could not be returned for burial'.
But that was beside the point. What matters, Faye re-asserted, was that she had never erred, never trespassed. Only to be ripped from her bed, locked up in the middle of town, and subjected to all manner of mistreatment. "And now you, wretched crone, dare to tell me this is MY fault? That I DESERVE this?!"
"You shut your fetid mouth, harlot!" Bette stepped closer, poking a boney finger at Faye's face. "My sister SAW you. Out here not long past dawn, wigglin' yer arse about, trying' to bewitch my 'arold. He's a GOOD MAN, and you can't 'ave him. Whore!"
Clearly, this wasn't a woman to be reasoned with. At least now, thought Faye, she could put a name to the bastard who ripped her gown. And maybe she would unman him after all; if only to spite his unpleasant wife, who would not stop shrieking at Faye.
What Faye hadn't noticed was the bucket the old woman had brought with; the bucket she emptied her chamber pots into. And now to underscore her disgust, Bette threw the bucket's contents… more or less in Faye's direction. Thankfully, she had mostly missed. The old woman then departed, feeling she had made her point.
Faye was growing less sure that this misunderstanding was going to be put right any time soon. Even now, at the setting of the sun, she felt no closer to enlightenment; nor to reform, for that matter. Faye considered the whole situation quite vexing.
Nonetheless, she remained adamant. Held aloft by the belief that this WAS all a mistake, and that soon enough, she would be set free. And perhaps the Queen would even invite her into the castle, by way of apology. The idea made her smile. The castle! She dared not hope; for it would be too wonderful.
But in the quiet, in-between moments she couldn't help but wonder.
Faye hadn't been entirely honest with the crone. It had been not two winters since sweet Yussef's passing, and Faye had already been entertaining a possible flirtation with the handsome butcher. Garric, whose arms were as thick as hams, and who always gave Faye a little extra ("but don't tell anyone, eh?") Did that make her a whore - that she hadn't waited longer? Faye didn't think so.
But what else could it possibly be?
"What did I tell ya, lads?"
The malodorous man - the man who had left his filthy stench on her lips - had returned. And, true to his word, he had brought along his friends, who now surrounded her.
"Ain't she a pretty one?"
Faye couldn't tell their number. She heard the creak of wood as bodies stepped up onto the platform around her. Rough hands touched and poked at her exposed flesh, making her flinch, as she pointlessly tried to elude them.
"See, we been talkin', right?" said the man. "And we reckon, pretty bird like you only ends up 'ere 'cause she been whorin' around with married men, yeah?" Here we go again, she thought. "And I says to 'em, well, maybe the pretty bird would enjoy a few more. Married men, that is."
The gang gave a gutteral, lascivious chuckle that made Faye's skin crawl.
Of course, she'd already gone over this with the crone. But by now, Faye had learned that it was pointless to try and explain her innocence, even under the best of circumstances. And right now, circumstances were far from ideal. Nor were these the type of men to be scared away by threats of dismemberment.
"Guards! Guards!?"
She felt the sting of a strike against her arse, so hard that it might have knocked her to her knees had her bonds not held her so fast. She let out a yelp. If she'd had her wits about her, if it hadn't caught her by surprise, she wouldn't have given them the satisfaction. Now she was deeply embarrassed. If she'd had any pride remaining, it had surely been stolen by that slap. She would, at least, deny them her tears.
"Ain't no guards about's gonna 'protect' no whore."
She was sorely tempted to once again try to pull her hands free. She squeezed her thumbs as tight as she could. Maybe the padlock wasn't actually locked, and she'd just let herself out? She desperately pulled and twisted her hands. Maybe she could at least attack them? She certainly wasn't about to go down without a fight.
Suddenly, a thunder of heavy footfalls, a clatter of metal armour, the jingle of chainmail.
"Disperse… PEASANTS." The guard's disdain for the men was clear. He might well have called them human feculence. "By order of Queen Zorella, this criminal is to be removed to her cell."
Thank the Gods, thought Faye. Her Queen had come to rescue her. But what was that about a cell?
"Fuck the Queen!" yelled one of the would-be assailants, "this whore is OURS."
This proved to be an ill-judged statement. What followed was a pathetic attempt at a brawl. Fortunately for Faye, the mob's drunkenness never stood a chance against the guards' armour and superior weaponry. Those that didn't flee, now lay dead about her. One such corpse, who had so boldly profaned the Queen, now stared up at Faye with glassy eyes. She pulled what saliva she could into her parched mouth, and spat at his worthless face. Good riddance, she thought.
The padlock clunked open, and the horizontal beam which had held Faye in place was finally lifted. She slid to the ground, her muscles too weakened to hold her up. She knelt, pinning by her own weight as her ankle shackles were removed, only to be replaced by heavy shackles about her wrists. Faye wished desperately to be a-bed, but the day was not yet done with her. A pair of guards grabbed her arms and hoisted her up, dragging her towards the castle. Towards her Queen.
The castle's interior was even more magnificent than Faye had pictured in her mind. The soft glow of the scores of candles that lined its corridors gave off a heat that felt to Faye like her Queen's warm embrace. Her heart was racing, was she truly about to meet… The guards stopped at the end of a corridor, knocked, and pushed the heavy wooden door open.
There she was. At the far end of a long table sat Queen Zorella. Faye had never been so close, and now found herself struck dumb. The Queen was a striking figure, dressed in a regal purple, with raven hair that framed her elegant features. Her bright green eyes seemed to pierce Faye's very soul.
Faye might have fallen to her knees in awe, had the guards not pushed her down onto a chair. The Queen had her so entranced, that Faye was just now noticing the ample feast set on the table before her. Faye's heart fluttered - this was it, she thought, dinner with the Queen. She dared not think about what might come after.
"My… My Queen…" her voice broke, "I do not have the words to describe what a blessing it is, just to be in your presence." Such effusive praise made the Queen smile, and that made Faye smile along with her. "I only wish," she continued, "that I could have made myself more presentable for you," suddenly all too aware of her filthy, ragged state.
"Poor, sweet peasant girl. Please, eat."
Faye was overwhelmed at the meal - the extravagant spread of roast meats and sugary treats laid before her. The smell alone could have made her salivate, if only she weren't so… She reached out her shackled hands and grabbed a goblet, greedily gulping down its wine, and spilling a fair amount on herself. She emptied the cup and slammed it back down on the table and gasped at her refreshment. The Queen gave an amused chuckle, which made Faye bashful.
"Gosh, what a day you've had," the Queen said, with a sympathy that made Faye at ease. "The old man who tore your gown, the old woman that threw her waste at you, all those passers-by so desperate to even touch one so fair as you." Her voice darkened, "and then those drunkards."
It slowly dawned on Faye what the Queen was saying - that, even thinking Faye a criminal, the Queen had kept a watchful eye over her, like a protective mother. Faye truly was blessed to live under such a kind monarch. And now, just feeling the warm glow of the Queen's presence, and enjoying this generous meal that was steadily filling her stomach.
"I had feared that mountainous butcher might snap your delicate little back when he struck you."
Faye paused her eating, her heart sinking at the suggestion. Not him, she thought. Not kind, gentle Garric, who always gave her a little extra. Some other butcher.
"In truth," the Queen continued, "I was vexed that those horrid men didn't wait longer before trying to ravage you. You peasants can be so selfish."
Faye could feel her appetite escaping. Had she really heard the Queen right? That the Queen has expected - perhaps even intended - for Faye to be ravaged in her bondage? No, surely this was just another misunderstanding. Like the misunderstanding which had found her shackled in the town square to begin with.
She had to know. "Please, my Queen," she beseeched, "tell me what offense I had committed, to have earned your merciful reform?"
"Oh, it's really quite simple, my sweet peasant girl." The Queen got up and walked over to a window, "You see, the other day, I looked out from my castle window here, and caught sight of you. This beautiful young thing, living your boring peasant life, doing your silly little peasant chores." She beckoned Faye over.
"I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be to have you there," she pointed out of the window to where Faye saw that awful contraption which had held her all day. "That I might look from my window, and gaze upon your beauty whenever I wished." She gave Faye a smile that chilled her to her core. "Alas, I couldn't let those brutes take what was mine. Take it and SOIL it."
The image cracked. Faye tried desperately to make sense of it. Her punishment - all of her mistreatment, and abuse, and humiliation - it was all… for no reason at all? Just the selfish whims of this sadistic tyrant! Her romantic ideal dissipated like smoke, and Faye was finally seeing the Queen for what she truly was.
All the feelings she had held back through the day's indignities were now boiling over, and she was filled with a lust for blood. If only she had any strength in her, Faye might have attacked this disgusting, malevolent Queen; with tooth and nail, and anything else she could bring to bear. Being executed would have been a most welcome reward.
"Now then, silly peasant girl…"
Alas, she was too spent, she could barely even raise her arms in those heavy shackles. But she had not yet been robbed of her dignity. Her voice came soft as a mouse, "faye…"
"What was that, peasant girl?"
"My name…" she gathered up what strength, what courage she still possessed, "my NAME is Faye."
The Queen grabbed Faye's face, squeezing her cheeks, and staring through her with those intense green eyes. She spoke with an indifference that cowed Faye,
"I don't care."
To the Queen, Faye wasn't a real person - she was just a 'thing', a possession to do with as she willed. And she had found Faye's little outburst so tedious. She tossed Faye aside like a bone that she had picked clean of all its worth, and sat back down to her feast.
"Guard," she called, "take this peasant to the cells. Introduce her to the other toys."