The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The sweat glistened off the two women’s bodies as they went at each other with their practice swords in the castle’s training area. Moving sinuously back and forth, they displayed the grace and ability that came from nearly a decade as sell-swords. Such an early morning practice had become a tradition in the years since blonde-haired Petra and chocolate-skinned Delia had become friends and lovers and not even the chill of approaching winter altered their routine.

Each had sensed the approaching page and so was prepared to pause for his message upon his arrival; ignoring a message from one’s employer both their sense of honor and Guild regulations. Wiping the sweat from their lean, athletic bodies, they wondered what the Baron could want with them so early in the day.

“Pardon, captains, but the Baron requires your presence in his audience chamber in one hour. He further orders that you are to be in uniform and prepared for an immediate departure.”

Even as they acknowledged the message and dismissed the page, Petra and Delia exchanged a guarded look with one another. The Baron was well aware that they planned to leave his service when their contracts expired after the Solstice, and it was just like him to fill their remaining timee with some tedious task of little import but requiring exhausting travel. Nonetheless, they were sworn to him, for now, and neither thought of doing anything but what their duty demanded.

Back in their adjoining quarters they helped each other to a quick bath and tried to discern the Baron’s intentions as they dressed and packed.

“So, what do you think His Pomposity wants this time,” asked Delia as she pulled on her tunic.

“I’m not sure, love. If we’re lucky he still has hopes of retaining our talents and hopes to bribe us with an easy and rewarding task.” Petra chuckled at Delia’s snort of derision. “I know, that’s unlikely. He probably realizes no power on earth could make us stay and just wants to milk every last drop of service out of us before we leave.”

“Well, I just hope that whatever it is we can still look at ourselves in the morning. Some of the things that . . . man, stands for, well . . . I sometimes wonder why we took service with him.”

“Darling Delia, the morning cold must have frozen that southern brain of yours. You know as well as I that after the High King’s Peace took hold in the southlands our only options were to become caravan guards,” “Boring.” “Or, thank you for interrupting, coming north to seek service. It was just our bad luck that the first semi-reasonable job offer which allowed us to stay together happened to be as captains of the Baron’s all-female Guard.”

“Watch it, woman, I remember how the southern heat seemed to addle your mind, making you prefer the love of a man, of all things, before I was able to set you strait. And it was you who thought this would be a golden opportunity to advance ourselves. We should have looked into the situation before signing our contracts. Then we could’ve found out the only reason the Baron has his Guard was because his rival the Duke had one first.”

“True. And I bet the Duke never tried to do to his Guard what the Baron tried to do to us at the beginning. Even if you hadn’t taught me that a man is no substitute for a good woman, the thought of him like that . . . it makes me sick.”

“Now you know how I’ve always felt about all men. Do you remember the look on his face when we explicitly detailed what the Guild would allow us to do to him if he even touched any woman under our command? That expression has made these past years worthwhile. The idiot, thinking our contracts made us his slaves. Hmph!”

By the time they finished their conversation Petra and Delia had arrived outside the Baron’s audience chamber, dressed in their travelling uniforms. Originally, the Guard’s uniforms had been more decorative, and revealing, than functional, but protests by all the Baron’s captains had swiftly changed that.

Immediately upon their arrival the two women were ushered into the Baron’s presence. The Baron, a short, fat, balding man, was seated behind his desk. He held a sealed envelope in his hand, and a small chest sat on the desk before him.

“Ah, Captains Petra and Delia. Right on time, I see. As alwa . . . as usual, I mean, I can rely on you to do what I ask.”

Petra stifled her sigh. It seemed the Baron had not forgotten the one time she and Delia had failed to execute his orders to the letter. A few months earlier, around the Equinox, one of the Duke’s agents had obtained information the Baron wished to keep confidential. The entire Guard had been mobilized with orders to return the woman “dead or alive,” and it had been Petra and Delia who had tracked her the longest. However, the resourceful agent had finally evaded them in the unmapped valleys to the east.

The Baron had been incensed upon their empty-handed return, but a few weeks later he appeared to have forgotten the incident. Petra could only wonder why he referred to it now so many months later. She only hoped he was not foolish enough to try and claim this failure somehow obligated them to extend their service with him. It could get so messy with the Guild when one had to kill one’s employer.

“Anyway,” continued the Baron, “I have a small task for you to perform before your contract with me expires.” Both women masked their sighs of relief at one fear being resolved. “It is of no great import, but something which does need to be done now.”

“One of the petty nobles to the east of my lands has, quite unknowingly, recently done me a service. I feel it is only proper to offer him a gift in thanks, and with the Solstice fast approaching this is the ideal time to repay my debt. Plus, there is a small task I wish to request of him, with a further gift to be offered if he grants my favor. I know such a mission would usually be assigned to one of my civilian aides, but there are issues which make the two of you ideal for this task.”

Petra and Delia exchanged a sidelong glance. There had to be more than the Baron was letting on. Perhaps he did not want this lord to put too much into the gift, as he might were it delivered by one of the baron’s noble or knighted vassals. Or perhaps there was some danger involved that required their martial skills.

The Baron continued, heedless of their reaction. “The noble in question is a Lord Vergne. Have either of you heard of him? . . . No. I’m not surprised, he is something of a recluse and it was quite difficult finding out anything noteworthy about him.”

“Your task itself is simple. This chest before me contains a collection of jewels and such items that make up my gift to Lord Vergne. You shall take it, and this letter in which I explain my gift and request the favor I mentioned, to the lord and await his reply.”

“Very well, milord. It shall be done. How are we to find this Lord . . . Vergne?”

“Ah, Captain Delia, always strait to the heart of the matter. Vergne has several Portals granting access to his keep, which is otherwise inaccessible. The nearest is located just four days ride south and east from here, near the village of Basset Run. This map shows the route. Simply arrive at the Portal, announce yourselves and your mission, and you shall be escorted to the lord’s presence.”

Petra realized this explained, at least in part, why she and Delia had been tapped for this assignment. Portals were vestiges of ancient magic, from a time when wizards and sorcerers were much more common than the present day. Very rare, Portals allowed instant transport between two points, but were feared by many who did not understand them. Even Delia disliked Portals and all other aspects of magic, excepting only the invaluable Healers. Perhaps the Baron feared someone without military experience would not have the courage to use a Portal, or perhaps he knew Petra and Delia had used them in the southlands, or perhaps he knew how Delia felt about magic and just wished to cause her discomfort in his own, petty way. Regardless, he had selected them, and the trip would use up nearly all the time remaining before Solstice and would likely be the last task they had to perform for the Baron.

Though the Baron left the time of departure to the two captains, Petra and Delia decided to leave immediately. After notifying the other captains of their impending absence so that duty assignments could be altered, they prepared their mounts and a packhorse and were soon on their way. With little else to do as they traveled through familiar territory, they continued their ongoing conversation as to their plans after leaving the Baron’s service.

“I just wish there was a chance the Duke would allow us to take service with him. From what I know, he is a much more honorable man than His Corpulence.”

“True, Petra. But there is no chance the Duke could ever trust anyone who had been in the Baron’s employ. If we know the Baron was behind the assassination attempt on the Duke’s heir, the Duke knows as well and would likely view us as agents of another attempt.”

“Agreed. Then I say our best chance to see some action lies with one of the border lords. Hah. Perhaps even this Lord Vergne would require our services.”

“A petty lordling nobody knows about? I’d rather go home and guard caravans! I still say one of the Plains tribes is our best option. If nothing else, it will give us a rare opportunity to travel the vast expanse of the plains. How many veterans of the Swamp Wars could say that?”

“I admit your point, but does anyone know what currency the tribes use? How would we get paid? Don’t be insulted, Delia, but the pleasure of your company in our bed, as wonderful as it is, does not pay the bills. And have you seen what their women wear? It makes His Randiness’ original uniforms look demure.”

“Oh? I can remember a time when the sight of me in such an outfit would have set your blood racing and driven all thoughts of money from your head.”

“It still would. But I’m no longer an innocent girl being seduced by an older woman. I’m older and wiser myself now and know the ways of the world and what a woman needs to survive. Even you must admit money is one of those things. Or do you intend to serve without pay?”

“Not likely. Older and wiser, eh? And you weren’t exactly an innocent, you vixen. In fact, as I remember it you seduced me, then put the blame on me since I was five weeks older than you, and the older woman is always responsible.”

They shared a laugh at this and rode on. Such conversation consumed most of their journey, thought hey never reached a clear decision. Each night they stopped at an inn and took a room. Having long ago stopped caring what others thought of their love they made o effort to hide the extent of their relationship, but neither did they act foolishly, keeping everything to their bed.

On the last stage of their journey they passed a crossroads they remembered from their pursuit of the ducal agent moths earlier. On that occasion they had tracked their quarry northward before loosing the resourceful woman’s trail in the unmapped valleys of the Sonlea Mountains. Now, however, they turned south into a more settled region. Entering the somewhat prosperous village of Basset Run on the edge of the Baron’s vast lands, they actually had a choice of inns, eventually selecting the Great Swan over the Giggling Basset.

As they prepared to head to the Portal the next morning the innkeeper could provide them with little information about Lord Vergne, only to say that the family had once dominated the region but it had been nearly a generation since any member of the family had been seen in the area. So it was with little information that the two rode the short distance to the Portal site. They wore their formal uniforms, with short swords sheathed at their sides and various smaller blades secreted in their bodies. Delia carried one blade more than Petra. They alternated such a duty, a superstition carried over from their service in the southlands.

Upon reaching the specified location the women saw a small stone building, partially overgrown with vines and weeds, sitting at the edge of an abandoned field gradually being reclaimed by the forest. Barely visible on the structure’s stone door was the ancient symbol signifying this was a Portal site. As they tethered their horses to a nearby sapling Delia could not hide her discomfort.

“Don’t worry, love. We’ve both used Portals before without any harm. We’ll be in and out before you know it and be back to our debate in no time.”

“Just because Portals have worked before doesn’t mean they’ll always work!” Delia snorted. “It’s just not right, being in one place and suddenly your body parts are sent the gods know how to some distant site. How can anyone be sure whatever runs these things know how to put us back together again? And if magic were so great, why don’t wizards and witches rule us? You know nothing can keep me from going with you, but I’d be much happier if I never had to use Portals again.”

“Delia, your logic, as always, is fascinating. Now come on and lets get this over with.” With that the two women, Delia bearing the chest and Petra the letter, stepped onto a small stone circle in front of the door, marked with the same symbol. In a loud, clear voice, Petra announced “I am Captain Petra Olgasdottir. My companion, Captain Delia Berea, and I come on behalf of our lord Baron. We bear gifts and a message for Lord Vergne, and request an audience with his lordship.”

She felt foolish standing there speaking to the door, and even more so when nearly thirty minutes passed with no sign of a response. Petra was about to suggest they try again when with a grinding sound the stone door slid open. From the building came an old man in official looking robes and two boys carrying small torches. The man stopped just outside the doorway and offered a formal bow which the women returned.

“Joyous greetings to you, captains, and may the blessings of the season be upon you. I am Castellan to Lord Vergne, and my master has asked me to escort you to him. On his behalf I apologize for the delay in answering you. Rest assured no insult to you or your Baron was intended. It is just been so long since we have used this Portal we had to make sure it functioned properly. I you follow me, Demar will remain to stand watch over your horses.”

As Petra stepped forward to respond she could not hide her smile at Delia’s discomfort. For a woman who had proven her courage many times over in battle, her lover still retained what Petra saw as childish fears. “No insult was taken, Castellan. We are at your disposal for the journey.”

Preceded by the remaining boy, who now carried both torches, Delia and Petra accompanied the Castellan into the building. After the stone door closed behind them they could barely make out the Portal itself on the far wall. Standing before it, they both tensed, one more than the other, as the Castellan invoked the activation spell. Despite the run-down nature of the Portal building, and Delia’s fears, the Portal functioned as intended. One minute they were in the small building, the next they were in a large, well-lit room with various tapestries hanging from the walls.

“Welcome to my Lord’s keep. If you would follow me, I shall take you to his library, where he waits to receive you.”

As the Castellan led them down a passage, Petra and Delia took note of their surroundings. While they did not expect any difficulty, years of habit led them to view any unfamiliar territory as a possible threat and they did not want to be caught unawares.

Outside the Portal room stood a pair of guards. While their armor gleamed with evidence of frequent polishing, the men themselves were unimpressive and out of shape. Petra figured them for ceremonial troops, perhaps scions of traditional servant families given sinecures, and thought them of little consequence.

The passage itself was lined with various tapestries and Solstice decorations, including wreaths of holly and ribbons in the Feast-day’s traditional red and green. At the end of the passage stood a set of large wooden doors. Stationed here were two more guards, but of a different sort than those at the Portal chamber. These also had shiny armor, but the men inside the armor appeared alert and in top shape, leading Petra to class them as fellow professionals. The Castellan stopped before the guards and, with an apologetic tone, spoke to the two captains.

“I am afraid that I shall have to request that you leave your weapons here. His lordship is very particular about his personal safety, and the punishment for going armed in his presence can be quite, severe, shall we say.”

Petra exchanged a look with Delia. Such a request, while of some concern, was not unexpected. The Baron usually followed a similar policy himself, especially with unfamiliar visitors. Thus it was with only slight hesitation that they unbuckled their swords and handed them to one of the guards, Delia having placed the chest on a small stand beside the door. Before she could reclaim the chest the Castellan cleared his throat and said with a thin smile, “Come now captains. I have dealt with professionals before. All of your weapons, if you please.”

Again, this caution was not unexpected. It was with just a slightly greater degree of hesitation that each woman revealed four additional blades and handed them over to the guards. The Castellan seemed to be satisfied and allowed Delia to reclaim her burden. She and Petra shared a brief look; Delia’s extra blade went undiscovered, so the pair would have some protection in the unlikely event something unexpected occurred.

Lord Vergne’s library proved to be a surprisingly long room lined with bookshelves, chairs, and reading tables along both walls. At the far end stood a roaring fireplace with two large, cushioned chairs set close together before it.

Petra and Delia took this all in, but their attention focused on the four occupants of the room. The only man, obviously Lord Vergne, proved to be of middle age. Bald, his stance implied confidence in himself and awareness of his noble status. This later attribute was also signified in his attire, formal court dress with just the right amount of jewelry.

Along with the lord were three scantily dressed young women, one an athletic blonde, another a voluptuous brunette, the third a busty redhead. The first two women stood just behind and to either side of the lord, while the third was off to the side and held a pewter pitcher in her hands. Each wore a green string-top which barely covered her aureole and a red bikini bottom. They also wore an array of jewelry which added to their appearance while also showing off their lord’s wealth.

However, the most striking thing about these women were their faces. Each looked solely upon the lord, and Petra, who had classified them as concubines, could only describe their gaze as worshipful. Their wide smiles were topped by milky-white eyes, thought hey apparently could see without difficulty. Petra heard Delia muttering under her breath during the time it took to traverse the room, but all she could make out was “magic, bah!” and “holiday decorations that walk,” both said with scorn. Petra agreed, and took an immediate dislike to this lord, who so openly flaunted whatever hold he had over these women. Perhaps this was a situation requiring further examination in the future. For now, she just wished for a quick end to the meeting.

As the Castellan formally introduced her, Petra glanced again at the tall redhead. The woman seemed familiar somehow, and Petra realized she somewhat fit the description of the ducal agent who had caused so much trouble earlier in the year. However, that woman had been intelligent and resourceful, not a fawning courtesan, and would never have allowed herself to become involved in a scene like the one Petra now observed. The captain passed the resemblance off as coincidental and returned her attention to Lord Vergne, as the introductions had been completed.

“Milord, we come on behalf of our Lord Baron bearing Solstice gifts and a message. The Baron requests that we wait upon your reply to his correspondence.”

Lord Vergne acknowledged this, saying “Please relay my thanks to your Baron for his kindness. Of course, I accept his gift in the spirit in which it is offered.” Even before he spoke, the two women at his side had stepped forward, stopping before Petra and Delia. “Please allow Rita and Zoe to take your burdens from you.”

The blonde took the chest from Delia and, opening it, turned to show its contents to her lord. After his cursory glance, she placed it on one of the nearby reading tables. Meanwhile, the brunette took the letter from Petra and presented it to the nobleman, after which she and the blonde resumed their former positions. Petra could not help but notice the sensuous manner in which they moved. It was clear they were displaying themselves for their lord and were proud and happy to do so.

At Lord Vergne’s request Petra and Delia seated themselves in the cushioned chairs while he opened and read the Baron’s letter. While doing so he paced in front of the fire, Rita and Zoe taking up positions beside the fireplace. At one point he grabbed a goblet from the mantle and, turning, held it out just as the redhead appeared at his side and filled it from her pitcher, ceasing pouring an instant before he raised it to his lips. Without spilling a drop, she silently and gracefully made her way back to the side of the room. Again, Petra disliked this open display of the lord’s dominance, which reminded her somewhat of the Baron’s egotistical behavior. Even more insulting was that he failed to offer his guests a drink, a serious breach of protocol. Nonetheless, she and Delia held their tongues, determined to return the lord’s rudeness with diplomatic politeness.

When the lord finished the letter he laughed humorlessly. “I am impressed by your Baron’s sources of information. He knows things about me I did not think were common knowledge, at least not anymore. I would very much like to know where he acquired this information. A man with information is a man with power, and a man with power can be either a valuable friend or a dangerous enemy.”

Placing his goblet back on the mantle, he paused in thought, again glancing over the letter. He again spoke as he stepped in front of the seated captains. “Nonetheless, it amuses me to undertake the favor he requests and accept in payment the additional gift he mentions.”

As she had ever since being informed of her mission, Petra wondered what this task and gift entailed. She just hoped it was not something that would unnecessarily extend her stay here. She felt somewhat uncomfortable, what with the lord seeming to loom over her as he stood before her chair, his three concubines, moving to stand behind him. Refusing to show her discomfort, she raised her head to meet his gaze. She found her eyes drifting to the gem in his tiara. The stone seemed to be pulsing . . .

Petra blinked. She felt dizzy and disoriented, as if she were staring down from a precipice into a bottomless pit. She glanced briefly back at the lord’s now smiling face, noting the smile did not reach his eyes, then looked over at Delia. Her lover, sensing something was wrong, leaned forward in her seat, tensed and ready to rise and draw her blade if need be. However, Petra was already feeling better, though she felt a sense of loss, as if something was missing, but she could not figure out what. She gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head and Delia relaxed even as Lord Vergne turned to face her.

Delia met his gaze with confidence, waiting for him to explain himself. Still recovering in her own seat, Petra heard Delia moan; a sound she’d only heard when the two shared each other’s bed. Looking up sharply, she saw Delia’s eyes glaze over and turn milky white, just like the concubines, even as a look of pure bliss came across Delia’s dark-skinned face. Realizing something terribly wrong had occurred, Petra made to rise, only to find the blonde and redhead had positioned themselves at her side and were holding her in her seat by her shoulders.

As Petra looked on in horror Delia slid out of her seat and prostrated herself before Lord Vergne. She then rose to a kneeling position and made as if to undo the lord’s leggings, with the obvious intention of taking his member in her mouth. This was too much for Petra. Screaming, “Leave her alone, you bastard!” she forced her way up out of her seat and took a step towards Lord Vergne.

Faster than Petra could have imagined the two women at her side roughly grabbed her arms and pulled her back, while the brunette moved to place herself between Petra and Lord Vergne.

However, what really stopped Petra in her tracks was Delia. Her lover immediately sprang to her feet and, drawing her blade, stepped in front of the lord, weapon ready for use. The look of pure hatred Delia directed at Petra shocked the blonde captain. Losing her will to fight she slumped back and allowed herself to be pushed down into her chair. Looking with despair at Delia, who had relaxed her stance, Petra pleaded “Delia, lover, it’s me. Fight him, Delia. Fight him. I know you can do it, Delia. We can reverse whatever he did, but it’s up to you.”

Lord Vergne laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “But she has no desire to fight me, silly woman. Tell her, my pet. Tell her who and what you now are.”

Delia’s face now beamed with joy, as if being addressed by Lord Vergne was a special honor. With evident pride she drew herself up and declared “I am Delia Vergnesthrall, Handmaiden to my Lord. I live only to serve and please Him, and only Him, in all things for as long as I live. You mean nothing to me, bitch, and live only at my Lord’s sufferance.”

As Delia finished speaking Lord Vergne ran his fingers through her close-cropped hair and she purred in pleasure before joining the brunette behind him.

“But, . . . but why? Why her? What did Delia ever do to you to deserve this?” was all Petra could think to ask.

“You mean you haven’t figured it out. You are a foolish woman. She is the payment your Baron offered in exchange for my favor. And before you ask, my dear, you are that favor. It is all here in his letter.”

Skimming over the letter, Lord Vergne read snippets aloud for Petra.

“Dear noble sir, . . . service rendered . . . deep gratitude . . . stopping ducal agent,” at this the redhead blushed. “Accept humble gift . . . one small request . . . letter-bearers failed me . . . must pay for this . . . Please condition one as per my request . . . accept the other as payment . . . etcetera, etcetera . . .humble servant . . . Baron.” “Humph! So full of himself he only signs his title and not his name.”

Petra sat back in shock. She should have seen it coming. Not this exactly, but something had to be behind her and Delia being assigned this mission. The signs had been there but she had missed or ignored them. Thinking of Delia, Petra realized the woman had disappeared while Lord Vergne read from the letter. Now she and the brunette reappeared at the lord’s side. In her absence Delia had been stripped of her uniform and was now clothed in what Petra took to be her new uniform, that of concubine, or Handmaiden, to Lord Vergne, with an outfit matching the others. She offered him his refilled goblet and, after he took it, stepped back, attentive and ready to serve, an adoring look upon her face.

“And what of me? Am I to serve you as well? Is this scene intended merely to torture me?”

“No, my dear. I hope you are not insulted that I selected your companion rather than yourself. Your Baron offered me free choice, and I was tempted to make you mine. However, I rarely have a chance to take a southlander into my bed, and your friend uniqueness adds to my collection of Handmaidens.” At his side, Delia stood even straighter and seemed even prouder, hearing herself being spoke of by her Lord. “Plus, she came armed into my presence, and that could not be tolerated.”

“As for you, your fate is to return to your Baron. He somehow, and I would still like to know how, discovered I can affect women’s minds even if I do not take them into my service, and this is what I have done to you. At his request, you now have an unbearable longing for his presence. You will not feel truly safe and secure until you are at his side, and you will never again feel comfortable unless you are with him. In addition, you will find that only he can grant you sexual satisfaction, and that you will have a great need for such satisfaction.”

“Oh, should you try to leave him, disobey him, or harm him or yourself, you will find yourself becoming His Handmaiden, as Delia is mine. One way or the other, you will now become his most loyal follower.”

Petra sobbed as she sank deeper into her seat. The sense of loss and longing she’d felt since her dizzy spell was intensifying, and if Vergne spoke true it would continue to do so until she returned to the Baron. She didn’t know if it were good or bad he was a four days ride away, but had a sickening feeling she’d be galloping most of the final part of her journey.

“Now, I must ask that you leave. I desire to try out my new Handmaiden, and then she and her sisters must continue preparations for my Solstice feast. I see my Castellan returns; he shall escort you out. You understand, I am sure, that your weapons will not be returned until you have left my keep. Good day, Captain Petra.”

With that Lord Vergne dismissed Petra from his attention and turned to Delia, who silently sank to her knees before him and undid his leggings, reverently exposing his manhood which she the took in her mouth. This time Petra did not interfere, allowing the Castellan to take her arm and escort her from the room. She looked back just once as she reached the doors and saw that Delia no longer fellated Lord Vergne. Now, she stood, leaning against one of the chairs, her back to the Lord. Her bottom had been pulled off and she spread her legs wide, exposing her sex to her Lord. He glanced briefly in Petra’s direction, an evil smile on his face.

As Petra walked back to the Portal room she heard Delia scream out in orgasmic ecstasy. “Yes Master! Take me Master! Use me! Harder Master, harder! OH YES! YES! YES! Thank you Master! Thank you!” Only the activation of the Portal drowned out her cries.

Back in the stone building Petra was unceremoniously pushed out into the clearing, the door immediately closing behind her. She saw that her weapons had been stacked on the ground and that her mount and the packhorse remained tethered as before. Of Delia’s mount there was no sign, nor was there any evidence of the boy left behind to watch the horses. The sense of longing rapidly growing within her, Petra recovered her weapons and mounted for the long journey back to the Baron. She only hoped she retained her sanity at journey’s end.

That evening, Lord Vergne sat before the fire in his sleeping chamber. While a raven-haired Handmaiden prepared his bed, his newest acquisition lounged naked at his feet, reverently caressing his leg even as he rubbed her head. He generally had his pets grow their hair out, but pondered having this one keep it short. However, his true attention was on the Baron’s letter. As he’d said in the library, the letter showed the Baron had access to information Vergne had thought forgotten outside his keep, and this created a dilemma.

It was possible the men could develop a mutually beneficial relationship. While rearranging his new toy’s mind, Vergne found that, if nothing else, the Baron was a major player in regional affairs, and might be a useful ally. Perhaps he could help Vergne reassert control over the Basset Run region and its troublesome commoners. Another source of Handmaidens would be nice; the valley presented limited options.

On the other hand, the Baron might use his knowledge against Vergne, and this could not be allowed. Thus Vergne had taken steps to cover a worst case scenario. Testing the thin mental bond he had retained with Petra, Lord Vergne smiled as he realized she was riding through the night in her desire to return to the Baron. She would serve the Baron faithfully, but Vergne had the knowledge he could exert his own controls whenever necessary, and a man with knowledge was man with power. With that he sent a mental command to his Handmaidens, and they preceded him to his bed, ready for a night of continued service.