By FoxFaceStories

A Commission for Slayerangel

Darian Mitchell is a depressed young man with zero prospects and a hidden desire to be a woman. Struggling with a toxic family and an uncaring girlfriend, Darian’s life changes when he receives a fantasy novel that seems far, far too real. In fact, Darian begins to find himself transported into this other world, where he is a gorgeous redheaded princess named Dinah. But as reality starts to become uncertain, which world will he choose? And which life?

First Parts

Previous Part

Chapter 8: The Shards of Freedom

“Well I’ll be!” Hue announced, the large and muscular brute of a man drinking some hearty ale. “A real fuckin’ princess!”

Xander frowned. “Language in the presence of royalty, Hue.”

“Oh, sorry Xan. Not used to polite company.”

“I’m polite, aren’t I?”

Hue laughed at this. “Yeah, but you’re mean polite when you want to be. This princess has some real balls, going out into the Twisted Woods like she did!”

I laughed at this. If only they knew that I really did have a pair of balls in that other life. “I take no offence to that comment, good Hue!” I announced. “I’m only sorry I did not tell the truth sooner. Had I known what you all were, I might not have-”

“Stolen my damn Hareetha?” Mahireth said, the dark elf raising an eyebrow from across the camp fire as she referred to her horse. “You scared the life out of her, human.”

“Sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “I thought - well, you said you were going to sell me.”

“And to be fair to our young princess, we absolutely were,” Xander replied. “Noblewomen fetch more than respectable ransoms, especially in these dangerous times.”

“Enough to keep financing a resistance,” Prixa noted. “Though not enough for good ale, it seems. By the Gods of Dark and Light, Xan, this stuff is shit.”

“Language again,” he repeated. “Royals aren’t used to such foul-”

“It is pretty fucking shit,” I replied, grinning as I took another sip. “I’ve tasted horse piss from my father’s stables that rank higher than this. Oh, if only I’d liberated some fine red wines from the cellar before I liberated myself.”

There was a pause, and then the whole camp broke out into laughter. Even Talon, their archer, who was a very serious gnomish fellow, managed to show a smirk as he restrung his bow.

“I do miss a good red,” he murmured quietly. “Feels like the only red we see these days is blood.”

“Ah, but think of the red wine we shall have again when the Shards of Freedom are successful again,” Xander announced. He stood and held a cup to the stars, and I couldn’t help but notice how valiant he appeared, like the tale of Robin Hood come to life in this other world. “To the freedom of our lands, and the obliteration of the Praythan Empire!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Prixa said.

“Are you sure we can’t just sell her?” Mahireth said, instantly killing the mood. “She’s going to be deadweight.”

Xander looked me in the eye, and I found reassurance there. His dark eyes managed to twinkle before the fire. “Not an option. She’s too valuable. Besides, I see promise. The Shards of Freedom need a powerful symbol. What better one than the renegade princess? No offence, your Highness.”

“None taken,” I replied. “I’m just thankful to have fresh clothes and a good lamb stew.”

Hue grinned. “I told ya, Xan, no royal is so posh she can’t stand a good lamb stew!”

“It seems it’s a day of opportunities for us,” Xander said, “and personal embarrassments for me. My apologies Princess Dinah, I had assumed your livelihood would make such a common peasants’ stew . . . distasteful.”

“Well, you were wrong,” I said, slurping up some more before correcting my manner. I pulled my cloak further around myself and shuffled a little closer to the fire. “I’m just damn glad that I happened to run into a group of fine souls whose interests align with mine.”

Damn glad, and damn lucky. To what extent this reality was driven by a fantasy narrative, I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like an appropriate turn of events, however unlikely. The kind of story hook I loved to read about; when the hero’s plan of escape goes absolutely wrong, and she has to fall in with a ragtag group of misfits and eventually save the day. And that indeed seemed to be the case now. After the Voidbeast, as it was apparently called and greatly feared, had passed back into the depths of the Twisted Woods, I’d finally come clean to Xander and his group. It was either that or be heavily restrained again. It took some convincing, but I still had a token of the royal office with me, and Mahireth, who disliked me most, was greatly annoyed to share that she’d heard rumours that the Princess had been shut out of the line of succession and was meant to be effectively in house arrest. It hadn’t occurred to me before that that’s what had happened, but it was very accurate. 

And perhaps if I’d ended up with a different crowd - a group of actual bandits - I would be in very hot water indeed. But as it turned out, Xander Murgrave was no ordinary diplomat. Despite his young age - only twenty five - he was remarkably intelligent and resourceful, and had warned King Hartigan of Ulstead about Praythan incursions and infiltrations. The man owed everything to the king, who had elevated him despite his lowly commoner status, and so when Hartigan was made into little more than an imprisoned figurehead, rather than lying down or even enjoying the treasures that the Praythans offered him, Xander absconded with a good percentage of the royal treasury and a number of loyal soldiers, guards, and even bureaucrats, and fled into the woods. From there, the Shards of Freedom were born: a group initially devoted just to the liberation of Ulstead, but then later joined by Dark Elves liked Prixa and Mahireth who desired the return of their homelands, and even people like Hue; commoners in disputed lands who simply didn’t want any foreign empires taking their farms away. To hear Xander tell it, they were not a big organisation, and very likely doomed to fail. Hell, they’d only been near Varkath because they’d heard rumours that the Praythans were making moves there, and had arrived too late to sound any warnings. Running into a fleeing traitor-princess was just good luck on their part.

So here I was, finally a bit more relaxed, the horrendous events of the last couple of days finally having time to wash over me as I ate and drank with his small band. Xander was conversing privately with a number of his brigands, but kind, simple Hue offered me more stew, and I accepted it eagerly.

“I normally don’t eat this much, at least as a woman,” I said a little awkwardly, not that he picked up on the weirdness of such a statement. “But I’ve done a lot of running and getting injured lately, and I’m famished.”

“Never excuse eating more of my stew,” Hue said happily. He was a gentle giant, this one. 

I looked over at the group, who were clustered a bit on the other side of the fire and talking secretively. “What are they talking about, do you think?”

Hue just shrugged. “I’m not a planner, but it’s probably about you, Princess Dinah. You’re valuable, and very pretty, and can be a symbol and the like. But you’re pretty dangerous to have around.”

I giggled. “As we have seen, I’m more a danger to myself.”

“Nah, I didn’t mean that. I meant, well, if we’re found with you.”

A shiver ran down my spine. They’d all be beheaded. Or worse, knowing my cruel stepmother in this world. Drusilla seemed to me to be the type to like the sight of a little blood and agony prior to the final execution.

“I’m sorry,” I replied.

“Don’t be! Always dreamed of rescuing a princess ever since I was a wee farm lad.”

“No offence, Hue, but I can’t imagine you ever being a wee farm lad.”

“Nah, I’m the little one of the siblings,” he said. “My brothers, they’re the real big ones.”

It was then that Xander interrupted that amusing image. He gestured for Hue to give us some privacy, and so he did. “Princess Dinah,” he said with his jovial smile. “Do you mind if we take a walk?”

I looked into the dark of the woods and felt fear creep into my skin. “The Voidbeasts . . .”

“We won’t be going far, don’t worry. I just wish to talk privately.”

I trusted him. He extended an arm, and I held onto it. I wasn’t sure if that was proper Varkathian protocol, but perhaps Ulstead did things that way.

“Am I better as a ransom after all?” I asked. “To fund your rebellion?”

He shook his head. “After seeing your resourcefulness and spirit, I wouldn’t forgive myself even if that was the wise course of action, ha!”

I chuckled. That damn annoying charisma of his was getting to me.

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding in the forest earlier today,” he said. “In no way did I ever intend to impugn your honour or make you fear that I would-”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said quickly. “It’s just . . . the first time I’ve ever had to think about such things. The negatives of being a woman, I suppose. A princess, too. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I should have, it always comes up in the novels I read and-”

“Ah, a fellow reader!” he declared happily. “We’ll have to compare tastes sometime. I quite like works of adventure. Perhaps it is what inspired me towards my current insanity.”

I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling too much. “I love adventure too . . . though I’ve had my fill of it for today. Thank you for saving me from the Voidbeast, Xander. Truly, thank you. I was scared shitless.”

He chuckled. “The language of Varkathian women is more upfront than most noblewomen, it seems!”

“No, just me!” I proclaimed smugly. It was then that I noticed that I was subconsciously sticking my ample bust out a little more, not to mention letting my hips sway. Good God, I’d even brushed some hairs behind my ear, which was such a feminine gesture for attraction. I was like those transgirls who suddenly leap into their new roles because they’ve denied themselves so long. Or so I heard. I wasn’t trans, obviously. That wasn’t me.

“So . .. what were you just talking about, then?” I asked, changing the subject. “With your allies?”

“We were deciding what to do next, and in the end we reached a shared agreement. We’re taking you back to our hidden fortress.”

I shivered again, only this time from excitement. It really was like something out of my fantasy novels!

“Ooh!” I proclaimed, unable to help myself. “That sounds exciting! Is it far away? Wait, is there a secret password? A moat? Do you use birdcalls?”

He laughed at this and patted my hand, which put more rosiness into my cheeks as I took in his sharp, bird-like features. 

“Nothing so dramatic, but I think you’ll like it, your Highness. However, there is going to be one more awkward part about this.”

“And that’s what?” I asked.

He retrieved a rope from his side and held it up, along with what appeared to be a hood.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I declared.

“Sorry,” he said, a little sheepishly at that. “We don’t all trust you yet. You’re going to have to be blindfolded for a few hours tomorrow.”

I groaned and kicked a rock, only to squeal from the pain in my toe.

“So much for the Shards of Freedom! You need to change your name!”

***

It actually took another two days to arrive at the fortress of the Shards of Freedom, though thankfully I was only tied up with a hood over my head for certain parts of the journey. I got the sense that sometimes this was for my own safety more than anyone else’s. The Varkathian Kingdom, now firmly under Praythan influence, was clearly looking for me, and having just a regular hooded bounty would carry less rumours out of the woods. Then again, the Twisted Woods were clearly not too well populated at all, and had a reputation for danger. The further we travelled in, the more it was clear to me that the so-called ‘paths’ and ‘trails’ were more based on elven signs carved into particular trees, or druidic symbols on stones that could easily be missed. The landscape itself bore the markers of the journey, rather than a marked trail. Still, whenever we were about to reach a geographical feature that I might recall, the hood went up.

“This sucks!” I found myself whining. “It’s so hot when I wear this.”

“We could always cut out your tongue to stop you from talking about the location of our home base,” Mahireth said in her usual sarcastic manner.

“I’m just saying, can’t I at least have a mouth hole in this thing?”

“You talk too much already!”

But Xander obliged me, which gave me some comfort, even though the clothes I was now wearing weren’t nearly as pretty and lovely and light as the royal dresses I’d had to wear previously. Mind you, I’d had dreams of being a fantasy protagonist, so getting to wear proper riding breeches and a tunic was rather nice in a different way. The only problem was, it was a spare loaned to me by the much nicer Prixa, whose figure was quite elven, whereas mine was quite . . . curvaceous. My pants were tight against my rear and my bust made the tunic drape off me like I was a matron. Frankly, at a certain point when it came to all the wobbling of my heavy boobs, I just wanted to die. Now I knew why women complained about needing good support, because without it in my case, I was getting back, shoulder, neck, and chest pain from how damn pneumatic they were. 

That was, until I complained several times too loudly, and Prix herself offered me a solution when we went to camp. I badly needed a wash, and the beautiful dark elf took me by the hand to the local river.

“I often bathe here with just Mahireth,” she said. “But we need to get you fixed up.”

“Great, now the newcomer is interrupting our private time,” her elven lover said.

“S-sorry,” I interjected. “I don’t have to-”

“No, it’s too late now! Prixa is such a maternal type when she’s not cutting down foes at my side and planning acts of brigandry. Come along, and we’ll give you the full elven beauty treatment. I swear, humans have no notion of what nature provides.”

They - I - clearly didn’t, because they didn’t just help bathe me, they fixed up my hair and helped dye it brown using secretions from a local bark mixed with a paste they had in their satchels. I felt rather uncomfortable at first - I still wasn’t used to my own nakedness, really, especially in the presence of other women who were equally naked, but Prixa had a way of making the experience relaxing, while Mahireth was such a complainer that it added a kind of amusement to the proceedings anyway. She applied this wonderful elven ointment to my various scratches and wounds, and they seemed to heal incredibly rapidly. Even my shoulder wound was looking a lot better, with just the occasional wincing pain. She confirmed that she had dressed it herself. 

“No woodland makeup!” she barked at her lover. “We don’t want her looking more like a princess.”

“Fine, my love,” Prixa said. “But at least let me secure her with a wrap. How do you human women stand it, with such large bosoms?”

I blushed, grinning a little awkwardly. “I’m, uh, not even used to it myself, believe it or not.”

“Like cow’s udders,” Mahireth said. 

“Hey!”

“It’s the truth,” she told me. “Just put the wrap on to help her like Xander requested.”

Prixa was in the act of wrapping my large breasts up with a sort of proto-bra; it tied up around behind my neck and then across my lower back, circling across my bustline and lifting them up rather prominently. I breathed a delightful sigh of relief. I couldn't believe how much weight it took off my back. A bra - or bra-like article - really was a girl’s best friend, not diamonds.

“Wait,” I said. “Xander did what?”

At this, Prixa hissed something in elvish to her lover, before exhaling in annoyance. “You were not supposed to know. Xander is . . . very clever. He noticed your discomfort and approached me to help fix it with some womanly application.”

“He . . . noticed that my boobs were hurting me?”

“He’s very observant when it comes to people.”

“I’ll bet he is!” Mahireth said with a snort.

“I meant that he is an excellent diplomat, my love! Don’t listen to Mahireth. My love has no tact, sometimes.”

Perhaps he had been looking at my chest. I wouldn’t blame him. I think that everyone is drawn to boobs, in a way, especially a perfect pair like mine were now. It’s just an instinctive thing. I was pretty sure even gay men loved boobs. But the fact that he had reached out to Prixa told me it was something more compassionate than that. While my chest looked even fuller as a result, I gave Xander a closer look as I returned to camp. He couldn’t help but look my way, but then he stared out at the trees and continued talking to Talon, the little gnome man perched in the trees. 

I hoped he caught my smile. 

***

When the hood was finally, and hopefully for the last time, finally removed, I gazed upon the fort of the Shards of Freedom and actually gasped.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t because I was impressed. Quite the opposite, actually. It appeared to be some kind of long-forgotten, perhaps even ancient fortress. One that was long overgrown with vines and had lost much of its roofing and defences. The moat was little more than a shallow stream, and a solitary flag flew quite lonely at the apex of the crumbling fortress, displaying three broken jewel shards in a separated triangle upon a blue background; one emerald, one ruby, and one topaz. 

“How do you like it?” Xander asked, gesturing towards his hideaway. I could tell that he genuinely wanted me to be impressed, so I gasped again, this time with a little more awe in my voice.

“It’s - it’s just incredible! So . . . natural. Very overgrown and mysterious. Like something out of a fantasy story, isn’t it?”

From the expression on his face, he wasn’t buying my reaction. “Well, it’s early days yet. We’ve only been doing this for two months. I know it isn’t exactly a princess’s palace, but rest assured, this will have to do for now.”

“Interesting,” I replied, fiddling with my hair and desperately wanting it to be a fiery ginger again. “I’m sure you’re very proud of it. But tell me, Sir Xander-”

“Just Xander. I’m no noble.”

“Very well. Tell me, Xander, why have you not worked on reconstructing the wall?”

“Well, we've been more focused on provisions than defence. This is our secret base, after all.”

“Ah. And, um, where are the rooms?”

At this he looked away for a moment.

“Xander?”

“Rest assured, your Highness, we will endeavour to get you a room. Right now it's mainly tents for us. I'm sure you'll manage!”

I grit my teeth. I was a city boy in one world and a total princess in another. What the hell did I know about camping!? I put it out of my mind while Xander stayed close to me and gave me the tour. To his credit, the ruined and overgrown fortress was more maintained than I initially gave it credit, though it still looked dangerous, and clearly the Shards were a dedicated group to live in the wild like this. There were perhaps about thirty of them at best, and that was including the group I had travelled with. What struck me was how utterly diverse this ragtag rebel outfit was. There were orcs sharpening stakes, light and dark elves organising supplies, and gnomes pouring over maps beneath a shade, engaging in what appeared to be an intense strategic discussion. There was even a rather beautiful centaur woman with vibrant blue hair that became a glorious mane as it descended down her back, leading an archery training exercise for some of the regulars. It was not a large operation at all - less than forty souls in total - but it was impressive how full of resolve they seemed to be, and how many societies, classes, races, and species they had been drawn from. It made me admire Xander’s skill as a diplomat that he had managed to wrangle such a coalition together. I told him as much as we returned to the centre of the fort after our brief tour.

“It pays to be good with a sword at times, and with the pen and tongue at others.”

“Oh, good with a tongue, are you?” I said, before immediately going red. I placed my hands on my mouth and took a sharp intake of breath that sounded like a mouse’s squeak. “I - that came out wrong!”

Xander, to his credit, just blinked, and then gestured to what looked like a hastily-made bedding in an area of the fort beneath a tarp shade. “I am indeed sharp of wit, as you say. Alas, I’m afraid that a clever wordsmith cannot alone create better accommodations, my princess. But at least here, I promise, you will have some privacy and hope of recovery for your wounds. We have organised a shade cloth as a divider.”

I balked at this. Two weeks as a true princess had spoiled me. “Is - is that it?”

He smiled eagerly. “The finest accommodation the Shards of Freedom can offer, here at Castle Creed. I will allow you to enjoy your surroundings, your Highness.”

He withdrew, leaving me looking at the spartan surroundings, which at least were not damp or likely to cause infection, but still felt hardly comfortable or secure.

“Great!” I said aloud to myself. “So I’m right back where I started: in a tiny little apartment!”

The Wandering Witch certainly had a sense of humour.

To Be Continued . . .