Taste of His Own Medicine, Runaway Tales
Genevieve rode easily on her horse surrounded by members of the Imperial Guard who were charged with protecting her on her outings. The queen was well-loved, though, and harm was unlikely to come to her as long as she was within the city walls. She had the distinct impression that they were there to keep an eye on her rather than actually protect her. She wished she could push her horse into a gallop. She hadn't rode - really rode - since she had lived in her home country. Apparently respectable women only rode at a slow pace, side saddle. She wondered how they ever got anywhere. She supposed that they didn't.
When they reached the shopping district, a guard helped her dismount and two of them followed her on the rest of her progress. She stopped in a few stores to greet the shopkeepers who she had come to know quite well in the last year. She made purchases more to help support their businesses - many of them suffered as most noble families preferred imported goods from the exotic outlying kingdoms which were often handmade without the aid of magic and therefore more durable - though the only store she really spent time in was the book store.
In the land she came from, before her husband had come and declared himself their new king and the acting vessel of a Goddess they didn't believe in, oral storytelling was very popular. She had been surprised to find that in his kingdom the stories weren't told for everyone to enjoy but locked away in books that could only be accessed by people who were lucky enough to receive an education that included basic reading skills. One of the priests had begun teaching her how to read shortly after her arrival but it had taken a long time to get comfortable enough to read for pleasure. She still did not find them as enjoyable as the stories of her homeland, but they were a suitable enough replacement.
She perused the stacks of books, selecting several romantic tales to keep her occupied in the coming month. She wandered to the back of the store, putting some space between her and her guards. One of the books caught her eye; it was small but made of quality leather and embossed with precious stones. She picked it up and flipped through it and it didn't take her long to find that it was a spell book. Not the usual ceremonial magic used by the priests but something more similar to what had been done at home which was illegal here.
She put the book back. She picked it back up. On an impulse she slipped it into the pile of books. The guards shared the opinion of her husband that she was quite dumb and she could always say she hadn't known what it was if they saw it.
--
It was very late when her husband fell asleep and she waited another thirty minutes after his breathing became deep and steady before she dared slip out of bed, got on her hands and knees, and groped under the bed until her hand found the book. She pulled it out and then continued to grope under the bed until she found the small parcel of supplies she had gathered from the priests without their knowledge.
She placed the various herbs in the small parcel and tied it with a red ribbon. She sat it on the bedside table on a ceramic plate and lit it with a match. It smoldered and a sweet scent filled the room. Genevieve looked at her husband one last time and then tucked the book under her arm and left the room.
--
He came around slowly, not wanting to abandon sleep, and thought it must be early because no one was timidly trying to wake him. His eyes opened blearily and he looked around the bedroom. Genevieve was not in the bed next to him. He felt disoriented and his head was pounding. Slowly, he sat up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stared blankly at the reflection which showed his wife staring back. She was dressed in a grey silk dress that he recognized from their wedding night that he had selected for her because it was in fashion and he had so wanted her to look like one of the other noble women. Too bad there had been nothing he could do about her mannerisms.
Slowly, he lifted his arm and watched as the reflection also lifted her arm. He got out of bed and the reflection also climbed to her feet. His stomach flipped and he felt sick. This was impossible. The door to the bedroom banged open and he turned to find himself face to face with what he would have expected to see in the mirror.
"What were you thinking? Were you trying to embarrass me or are you really that stupid?" He closed the distance between them quickly and the man grabbed what he thought was his wife. The man had a vice grip on Liam's arm and the king found himself intimidated despite himself. In this body, the man towered over him by a good seven or eight inches. Standing at 6'5'', he was not accustomed to being smaller than those around him. The whole situation was too bizarre and despite himself, a nervous, near hysterical laugh escaped. He was shocked to hear it come out so high pitched and feminine.
The fist connected with the side of his face before he even saw it coming. Liam had been hit when he was younger by the other boys. He didn't tend to get one well with a great many people. But this hurt a great deal more than any blow he had ever received in the past. It took a moment for Liam to recover and he grabbed his hair. "Next time you feel you might want to share your opinion on politics, keep it to yourself, do you understand me?"
He meant to say something to explain the situation, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a tremulous. "Yes."
He released Liam and gave him a look of disgust. "Let's get this over with. Take off your clothes. Now. Show you have soem worth as a wife."
Liam meant to bolt for the door but he found the body moving across the room, facing the wall, and starting to unbuttom the bodice of the dress with shaking hands. He tried to stop but he couldn't control the body he possessed. Couldn't stop the events from that night from unfolding.
"Hurry up," the king snapped, giving him a little shove from behind. He stumbled and braced himself against the bed.
He finished removing the dress and then the slip and felt the frigid air against his skin. He was beginning to panic but there was nothing he could do. It was like the events set in motion could not be altered. He climbed into the bed and laid down, breathing shallow and nervous. The bed sagged down with the weight of the king and he moved over him, pushing his legs apart. Liam had never felt so helpless and vulnerable. He tried to struggle but his arms only fluttered uselessly at his sides.
"Wait," he breathed in that weird, feminine voice, just as she had said that night, looking slightly panicked and seeking comfortin his face. The memory was quite vivid though he had not thought about it since that night. He had been very surprised to find that she was a virgin that night.
"Shut up," the king hissed above him. "Useless whore."
Then the pressure and pain and the feeling of violation and invasion.
--
He awoke with a gasp and sat up straight in bed. He looked in the mirror across from the bed and saw his usual hulking reflection. He touched his face, as though assuring himself that he was real. The room smelled sickly sweet and it was making him sick. Genevieve was not there and he was thankful for that. He did not sleep the rest of that night.