Enslaved by My Forgotten Wife

[Eryk Goatsbane]

The planning room of Kythera’s grand castle was a sight to behold, especially for someone like me who grew up shoveling shit. Massive oak beams stretched overhead, their ancient wood polished to a warm glow by centuries of candlelight and torch smoke.

At the center of it all stood a table that could easily seat twenty, its surface covered in maps, scrolls, and various arcane instruments I couldn’t begin to name. The air hummed with a mixture of tension and residual magic, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Xanna Starblade, our fearless leader and the prophesied hero destined to defeat the demon queen, stood at the head of the table. Her long white hair, usually flowing like a river of moonlight, was disheveled and wild. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her piercing grey eyes, a testament to countless sleepless nights.

Without warning, Xanna’s hands came down on the table with a resounding crack that made us all jump. Maps fluttered, ink bottles tipped, and a delicate astrolabe went spinning across the polished wood.

“Why the FUCK hasn’t my husband been found yet?” Xanna screamed, her voice raw with desperation and barely contained fury. The very air seemed to crackle around her, responding to the intensity of her emotions.

I exchanged glances with the other four members of our inner circle Clara the elven ranger, Thorne the dwarven artificer, Zephyr the Drow sorcerer, and, of course, our level-headed priest, Sister Amara. We’d been through hell and back with Xanna, faced down demons and dragons alike, but I’d never seen her like this.

It was Sister Amara who finally broke the tense silence. Her soft eyes, usually so full of warmth and understanding, now held nothing but confusion as she regarded our leader.

“Xanna,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “we’ve been looking, truly we have. But... people are confused.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “You told everyone you sent him away six months ago to keep him safe. The common folk, they’re not sure what to believe.”

Xanna’s eyes flashed dangerously at Amara’s words, but before she could respond, I felt compelled to speak up. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and I couldn’t shake the gnawing worry in my gut about Saber’s fate.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Xanna,” I said, my voice sounding rougher than usual after months of shouting orders on the battlefield, “but Thorne and I have only just returned from the border of Eltar. We’ve been fighting back demons for nigh on a year now as you commanded us, and news travels slowly in those parts.”

I glanced at Thorne, the stout dwarf nodding in agreement, his intricate mechanical arm whirring softly as he stroked his singed beard.

“How exactly did Saber go missing?” I asked, unable to keep the concern from my voice. Saber had always been kind to me, treating me like a friend despite my humble origins. The thought of him in danger made my stomach churn.

Xanna’s piercing gaze snapped to me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Has no one briefed him?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Amara shook her head, her usually serene features marred by exhaustion. “We’ve hardly had time to breathe, let alone catch up on a year’s worth of events,” she explained softly.

Xanna let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her tangled white hair. When she spoke again, her voice was low and filled with barely contained rage.

“Raven kidnapped him,” she spat, each word dripping with venom.

I felt my jaw drop, confusion and disbelief warring within me. “Raven?” I repeated, certain I must have misheard. “But... that can’t be right. Raven was a great guy! He saved our hides more times than I can count.”

Memories flooded my mind, including Raven’s easy smile as he shared a drink with us around the campfire and his unwavering loyalty in the heat of battle. It didn’t make any sense.

Thorne’s mechanical arm whirred and clicked as he stroked his singed beard, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The dwarf’s eyes, magnified by his elaborate goggles, darted between Xanna and the rest of us, confusion etched across his weathered features.

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Thorne finally said, his gruff voice echoing in the cavernous planning room. “Raven and Saber were thick as thieves, best friends if I ever saw ’em. Hells, they were practically joined at the hip when Raven wasn’t out fighting with us. Saber once told me outside of his wife, his second goal in life was to piss Raven off so bad he shits himself.”

‘Classic Saber.’

As Thorne spoke, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, charged with unspoken truths and simmering tensions.

Sister Amara let out a long, weary sigh, her shoulders slumping as if bearing the weight of the world.

“It’s... more complicated than that,” Amara said softly, her melodic voice tinged with sadness. “Raven was actually Saber’s father.”

The words hung in the air like a physical presence, heavy and unyielding. For a moment, the only sound was the soft crackle of torches and the distant rumble of thunder outside the castle walls.

Clara and Zephyr, our elven companions, exchanged bewildered glances. Their ethereal features, usually so composed, now showed open shock and confusion.

“Really?” Clara asked, her musical voice pitched higher than usual with surprise. Zephyr nodded in agreement, her dark skin contrasting sharply with her shock-widened eyes.

Xanna’s fist came down on the table once more, but this time with less force. It was a defeated gesture, punctuating the heavy silence that had fallen over the room.

“Stepfather,” she corrected through gritted teeth, her voice tight with barely contained emotion. “Raven was Saber’s stepfather.”

“But they acted more like friends…. Thats odd.” I voice my thoughts out loud.

Xanna’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The air around her seemed to crackle with barely contained energy, responding to the intensity of her emotions.

“You don’t understand,” she hissed, her voice low and filled with venom. “Raven is a goddamned turncoat. He kidnapped Saber, probably with the intention of handing him over to the demons.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. I felt my head spinning, trying to make sense of it all. The Raven I knew, the man who had fought beside us, bled with us, laughed with us around countless campfires... it just didn’t add up.

“I’m sorry, Lady Xanna,” I said, my voice rough with confusion and a hint of frustration, “but none of that makes any sense.” I ran a hand through my hair, struggling to put my thoughts into words. “I love Saber like a brother, truly I do, but... he’s not exactly a valuable asset in this war.”

Thorne nodded in agreement, his mechanical arm whirring softly. “Aye,” he grunted, “the lad’s heart is in the right place, but he’s about as useful in a fight as a bag of shit.”

I couldn’t help but crack a small smile at Thorne’s colorful description. “The only thing that bumbling freak brings to the table is camaraderie,” I continued, “which the demons have no use for. Why in the hell would they want him?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d struck a nerve. Xanna’s eyes blazed with fury, and for a moment, I thought she might actually attack me. But then, something strange happened. Her gaze flickered to Sister Amara, and I saw a flash of... was that fear?

Xanna’s fury seemed to deflate, replaced by a weariness that made her look far older than her years. She slumped into a nearby chair, her white hair falling like a curtain around her face. The room fell silent, save for the distant rumble of thunder and the soft crackle of torches.

Sister Amara stepped forward. She placed a comforting hand on Xanna’s shoulder before turning to address us.

“There’s more to the story,” Amara began, her melodic voice tinged with sorrow. “The method of Saber’s abduction was... unusual, to say the least.”

I leaned forward, curiosity overriding my earlier frustration. “How so?” I asked.

Amara’s eyes met mine, and I saw a depth of sadness there that made my heart ache. “They used a cursed slave collar,” she said softly.

The words hit me like a physical blow. My eyes widened in shock, and I felt the blood drain from my face. “So not only is he bound to Raven,” I breathed, horror creeping into my voice, “he’ll have no memories? That’s insane!”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. “The man would hardly serve as a good labor slave,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Xanna let out a long, shuddering sigh. When she spoke, her voice was hollow, devoid of its usual fire. “It’s possible,” she said, each word seeming to cost her great effort, “that the demons will use him as breeding stock.”

I couldn’t help but scoff at that despite the gravity of the situation. “But he’s just so... ordinary,” I said, gesturing vaguely with my hands. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but he’s not exactly demon-lord material.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I noticed something odd. Amara’s gaze dropped to the floor, and Xanna seemed to curl in on herself even further. The air in the room grew thick with an unspoken tension, like the calm before a storm.

I narrowed my eyes, looking from Amara to Xanna and back again. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” I asked slowly, a creeping suspicion forming in the back of my mind.

Xanna’s head snapped up, her creepy grey eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me feel like I needed to take a step back.

“Just. Fucking. Find. Him.” Xanna’s voice rang out, each word punctuated by a pulse of raw magical energy that made the very foundations of the castle tremble.

We all understood, but for some reason, the task felt utterly hopeless.

‘Saber, Buddy, I promise we are coming. Just hang in there.’

*****

[Saber’s POV]

The late afternoon sun bathes the castle gardens in a warm, golden glow. Vallenora and I sit at an ornate wrought iron table on a secluded terrace overlooking a sea of vibrant flowers. Delicate teacups of the finest porcelain rest before us, wisps of fragrant steam curling upwards from the amber liquid within.

I lift my teacup, savoring the complex aroma of rare spices and herbs. Just as I’m about to take a sip, a sudden tickle builds in my nose. I quickly set down the cup and turn away, burying my face in the crook of my elbow as a powerful sneeze escapes me.

“Bless you, my love,” Vallenora says, her melodic voice tinged with concern. Her crimson eyes study me intently as she adds, “You’ve been sneezing all day. Do you have a cold?”

I sniff, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. “I don’t think so,” I reply, my voice slightly nasal. “Just a bit sneezy, I guess.”

Vallenora sets down her own teacup with a soft clink. “Come here,” she says, beckoning me closer with a graceful wave of her hand.

I scoot my ornate chair forward. The movement brings me close enough that our knees touch, the silk of Vallenora’s gown whispering against my leg. I lean in closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of her presence.

Vallenora reaches out, her delicate hand coming to rest gently on my forehead. Her touch is cool and soothing against my skin, like a balm for my irritated sinuses. As her palm makes contact, I feel a subtle tingling sensation, as if tiny sparks of electricity are dancing across my scalp.

“Full recovery,” Vallenora murmurs, her voice taking on an otherworldly resonance. The air around us seems to shimmer, the late afternoon light bending and refracting in impossible ways.

For a moment, I feel a wave wash over me, starting from where Vallenora’s hand rests and spreading outward through my body. The tickle in my nose subsides slightly, and my breathing feels a bit clearer. But the effect is subtle, barely noticeable.

Vallenora’s brow furrows, a look of concentration etched across her ethereal features. She lets out a soft sigh, her crimson eyes meeting mine with a mixture of frustration and determination. “It seems the spell only worked a little,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment. “Perhaps...”

Her voice trails off, and a mischievous glint appears in her eye. “Can I have a kiss?” she asks, her tone suddenly playful and alluring.

I can’t help but smile, feeling a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way Vallenora makes me feel. “Of course,” I reply, leaning in closer.

As our lips meet, the world around us seems to fade away. The garden, with its riot of colors and sweet fragrances, blurs into a hazy backdrop. All that exists is Vallenora and me, locked in this moment of tender passion.

Suddenly, a crackling energy surrounds us. Arcs of purple lightning dance across our skin, weaving intricate patterns in the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I can taste ozone on my tongue.

Vallenora pulls back slightly, her eyes blazing with an inner fire. “Full recovery,” she intones once more, but this time, her words carry a weight that seems to bend reality itself. The very air vibrates with the power of her declaration, and I feel as though the universe itself is holding its breath.

In an instant, every cell in my body feels electrified. It’s as if I’m being remade from the inside out, every atom singing with renewed vitality. The lingering congestion in my sinuses vanishes completely, replaced by a clarity of breath I’ve never experienced before. My muscles feel stronger, more responsive, humming with potential energy.

Vallenora watches me with rapt attention, her crimson eyes gleaming with pride and something deeper, more primal. A soft smile plays at the corners of her lips as she takes in my wonderstruck expression.

“How do you feel, my love?” she asks, her voice a melodic purr that sends shivers down my spine.

“Amazing,” I breathe, still trying to process the incredible sensations coursing through my body. “I’ve never felt so... alive.”

A thought pops into my head as I think about what just happened.

“Val,” I begin, my voice filled with awe and curiosity, “Is it love that powers your magic?”

Vallenora’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it’s quickly masked by a tender smile. She lets out a soft sigh, her gaze dropping to where our hands are intertwined on the table.

“Something like that,” she says awkwardly.