Enslaved by My Forgotten Wife

The grand dining hall stretches before me, a cavernous space that seems to go on forever. Ornate chandeliers, each as large as a small carriage, hang from the vaulted ceiling, their countless crystals catching and refracting the warm light of a thousand candles.

Vallenora sits beside me, resplendent in her starlight gown. The fabric shifts and shimmers with her every movement, casting prismatic reflections across the polished tabletop. Her black hair cascades over her shoulders in perfect waves, framing her ethereal features like a work of art.

Before us, covering every inch in front of us, are platters piled high with bacon. The savory aroma fills the air, making my mouth water instantly. Each strip is perfectly cooked, a symphony of textures from crispy to tender, glistening with a tantalizing sheen.

With graceful movements, Vallenora selects a particularly appetizing piece of bacon. Her scarlet eyes lock with mine as she brings it to my lips, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Open wide, my love,” she purrs, her voice as smooth and rich as honey.

I comply, accepting the morsel of bacon. The flavor ignites across my palate, a perfect balance of salt, smoke, and zest that makes my taste buds sing.

‘I am kinda getting tired of bacon all the time, though.’

This intimate ritual continues, Vallenora hand-feeding me piece after piece of the delectable bacon. It’s a far cry from our usual passionate encounters, but there’s something undeniably sensual about the experience. Each morsel is offered with tender care, her fingers occasionally brushing against my lips in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

Between bites, we talk, our conversation flowing as easily as the finest wine. Lately, we’ve made a conscious effort to spend more time getting to know each other and building a connection that goes beyond the physical. It was my suggestion initially, born from a desire to understand the enigmatic woman who calls herself my wife.

As we continue our meal, I find myself regaling Vallenora with tales from a galaxy far, far away. My hands gesture animatedly as I describe epic space battles, lightsaber duels, and the eternal struggle between the light and dark sides of the Force.

“Picture this,” I say, my eyes alight with enthusiasm, “massive star destroyers, each one the size of a small asteroid, locked in combat above the forest moon of Endor. Swarms of TIE fighters and X-wings dance between them, their laser cannons painting the void with streaks of green and red.”

Vallenora listens intently, her crimson eyes wide with fascination. I can see her trying to piece together the unfamiliar concepts, her brilliant mind working overtime to make sense of it all.

“And like we went over earlier. At the heart of it all,” I continue, “is the saga of the Skywalker family. Anakin, a young slave boy with an unprecedented amount of magic bacteria, falls to the dark side and transforms into the terrifying Darth Vader. Then his son, Luke, must confront his father and bring balance to the galaxy.”

I decide to add in a little bit of a twist on the real fiction. “And then also separately theres this guy named Vex Eras. But your not ready for his story yet.”

As I finish my impassioned recounting, I notice Vallenora’s brow furrowing in confusion. She sets down her fork, a piece of bacon momentarily forgotten.

“I don’t understand,” she says slowly, her melodic voice tinged with bewilderment. “How could there be a war for the Stars? They’re so far away, and there are so many of them.”

I open my mouth to explain, but she continues, her confusion deepening. “And I don’t know why you spent so much time talking about the golem R2-D2. Is it some kind of magical construct?”

I can’t help but laugh, not at her confusion, but at the adorable way her nose scrunches up when she’s puzzled. “It’s okay, honey,” I say, reaching out to take her hand. “I’ll get you to understand more about Star Wars in due time. It’s a complex story with a lot of unfamiliar concepts.”

Just as I’m about to launch into an explanation of science fiction as a genre, the massive doors at the far end of the dining hall swing open. Raven strides in, his dark attire in stark contrast to the opulent surroundings.

Raven approaches with swift, purposeful strides, his dark cloak billowing behind him like a storm cloud. As he nears our end of the impossibly long table, he executes a deep, formal bow before Vallenora. The movement is fluid and practiced, speaking of years of courtly training.

“Your Grace,” Raven intones, his deep voice resonating through the cavernous hall.

As he straightens from his bow, Raven’s eyes fall upon the mountain of bacon piled before us. His stoic expression falters for a moment, a flicker of exasperation crossing his features. His gaze darts from the bacon to me, then to Vallenora, who continues to delicately place morsels between my lips.

“Your Grace,” Raven says, his voice strained with barely contained frustration, “you cannot just feed him bacon.”

I grimace, suddenly feeling guilty for not speaking up earlier about my growing weariness with the constant bacon diet.

Vallenora’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of annoyance creeping into her melodic voice. “Nonsense,” she declares, selecting another piece of bacon with graceful fingers. “He loves it.”

Raven pinches the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world like a man at the end of his patience. “No, no,” he insists, his tone taking on an almost pleading quality. “He needs nutrition. He needs a more balanced diet.”

I laugh awkwardly, caught between Vallenora’s doting attention and Raven’s obvious concern. “It’s okay,” I mumble around a mouthful of bacon, trying to diffuse the tension.

As if sensing my unspoken awkwardness, Vallenora’s eyes suddenly take on a strange, yellow shine as she looks me up and down. Her lips move, forming words I can’t quite hear, a whispered incantation.

“Everything seems normal,” Vallenora declares, her voice carrying an eerie echo that reverberates through the cavernous space. “Granted, I just did a full body restoration on him yesterday.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I can feel Raven’s gaze boring into me, searching for any sign of discomfort or distress. The weight of their scrutiny makes me want to squirm in my seat, but I force myself to remain still, plastering what I hope is a convincing smile on my face.

Raven lets out a long, weary sigh. His shoulders slump slightly as if bearing the weight of countless worries. “You can’t rely on that kind of magic,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “It could put an unnecessary strain on his body.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Vallenora’s face, quickly masked by a nervous smile. “Really?” she asks, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

Raven’s words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I can feel the weight of his gaze, filled with fatherly concern, as he explains, “His body needs a balance of nutrition. Relying solely on bacon, no matter how magically enhanced, could lead to unforeseen consequences.”

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me, bubbling up from the depths of my fragmented memories. I realize, with a start, that I have no idea how old I actually am. The question burns on my tongue, demanding to be asked.

“Raven,” I begin, my voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, “how old am I?”

The moment the words leave my lips, I feel Vallenora stiffen beside me. Her crimson eyes flash with a mixture of hurt and indignation. “Why are you asking him and not me?” she demands, her melodic voice taking on a sharp edge.

I turn to her, trying to keep my tone gentle and placating. “Do you know how old I am, Val?”

Vallenora’s porcelain features contort into a pout, her lower lip jutting out in a way that’s both childish and oddly endearing. “Of course I do,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. But despite her assertion, no answer is forthcoming.

The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension. I can almost see the gears turning in Vallenora’s mind as she struggles with how to proceed. Finally, her expression brightens, a mischievous glint appearing in her crimson eyes.

“I have an idea,” she declares, her voice taking on a playful lilt. “How about Raven tells you, and I can see if he’s telling the truth?” She turns to Raven, her gaze challenging. “Go on, then. Tell my husband his age.”

“You’re 26, Saber,” Raven says, his deep voice filled with quiet certainty.

“Oh wow, that’s a full year older than last time,” I exclaim, my voice filled with wonder.

The moment the words leave my lips, the atmosphere in the grand dining hall shifts dramatically. Vallenora and Raven freeze, their expressions morphing from surprise to alarm in an instant. Their eyes dart around the cavernous space, searching frantically for any sign of eavesdroppers.

Raven moves with inhuman speed, melting into the shadows and reappearing at various points around the hall, checking behind pillars and tapestries. Vallenora’s hands weave intricate patterns in the air, her lips moving in a silent incantation. A shimmering dome of purple energy envelops us, pulsing with arcane power.

As they complete their frantic search, finding no one else present, Vallenora turns to me. Her crimson eyes blaze with a mixture of fear and frustration. “Saber,” she hisses, her melodic voice now sharp with urgency, “you need to keep that shit to yourself!”

The purple energy dome dissipates, but the tension in the air remains palpable. Raven returns to our side, his face a mask of stern concern. He leans in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It would be detrimental to your life if anyone finds out about that,” he says, his words heavy with implication. The weight of his gaze tells me he’s referring to more than just my age. He clearly knows about my reincarnation and the other world I came from.

Vallenora’s crimson eyes soften as she gazes at me, a mixture of love and sorrow swirling in their depths. She reaches out, her delicate fingers tracing the line of my jaw with unbearable tenderness.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she whispers, her melodic voice tinged with regret, “but I can’t take any risks with you. You are beautifully careless. I love that about you, but this isn’t something I can leave to chance.”

As she speaks, I feel a subtle vibration emanating from the collar around my neck. The smooth material hums with an unseen power, resonating with Vallenora’s words. The air around us grows thick with arcane energy, shimmering like heat waves rising from sun-baked stone.

“I order you not to reveal the secret of your origins to anyone else,” she intones, each word heavy with magical intent.

The collar grows warm against my skin, pulsing in time with Vallenora’s command. I feel the magic seeping into me, weaving itself through my very being. It’s not painful, but the sensation is undeniably strange, like liquid lightning flowing through my veins.

As the glow fades from Vallenora’s eyes and the arcane energy dissipates, Raven lets out a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump.

“I hate to see the collar used this way,” Raven says, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “But I understand the necessity.”

He turns to Vallenora, his gaze intense and pleading. “I beg you, Your Grace, not to become too accustomed to using the collar. Its power is... seductive, but dangerous.”

Vallenora’s lips curl into a wicked smile, her crimson eyes gleaming with a predatory light. She reaches out, her delicate fingers gripping my chin with surprising strength. The touch sends a jolt through me, a mixture of desire and trepidation that makes my heart race.

“Oh, Raven,” she purrs, her voice dripping with dark amusement, “you needn’t worry. So far, I’ve hardly used it at all.”

As she speaks, I suddenly become acutely aware of the collar’s presence. It feels heavier somehow, more constricting than before. “I forgot I was even wearing it until now,” I admit, my voice sounding strangely distant to my own ears.

Almost instinctively, my hand rises to my throat, fingers seeking the smooth surface of the collar. But as I touch it, I find I can’t slip even a fingertip beneath its edge. The collar doesn’t budge, clinging to my skin as if it’s become a part of me.

A flicker of panic rises in my chest as the reality of my situation sinks in. The collar feels suffocating now, a constant reminder of my lack of control. I tug at it futilely, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Vallenora coos softly, her melodic voice wrapping around me like a silken caress. “No, honey, don’t try to take it off,” she murmurs, her crimson eyes gleaming with a mixture of concern and possessiveness. “It looks so sexy on you.”

Suddenly, Vallenora’s hand moves to my back, her palm pressing firmly against my shoulder blades. She begins to rub in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of her touch seeping through my clothes and into my tense muscles.

The repetitive motion has an almost hypnotic effect, grounding me in the present moment. My racing heart begins to slow, and the suffocating panic recedes like a tide pulling back from the shore. I find myself leaning into her touch, my body instinctively seeking comfort from the very source of my distress.

Raven watches this interaction with a nervous look, his dark eyes darting between Vallenora’s hand on my back and the collar around my neck.

Suddenly, Raven’s eyes widen, and he lets out a sharp curse. “Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He turns to Vallenora, his posture straightening as he addresses her formally. “Your Grace, I came here to tell you there is a giant running wild near one of the farming villages.”

Vallenora barely glances up from me, her hand continuing its soothing circles on my back. With a casual wave of her free hand, she dismisses the news as if it were no more concerning than a report of light rain.

“Dispatch Lilith or do it yourself,” she says airily, her tone suggesting that dealing with a rampaging giant is as simple as swatting a fly.

“Your Grace,” he begins, his voice low and strained, “this is no ordinary giant.”

“Normal humans,” Raven continues through gritted teeth, his words sharp and deliberate, “would need at least two to three dozen men to fight and kill a giant of this magnitude. Even then, the casualties would be... significant.” He pauses, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of concern and barely concealed exasperation. “Your Grace, at least two members of the hero’s party would be needed to handle this threat effectively.”

Vallenora’s hand stills on my back, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as she processes this information. For a moment, the only sound in the cavernous dining hall is the soft crackle of candles and the distant echo of our breathing.

“So?” Vallenora says dismissively, her melodic voice tinged with boredom. “I fail to see why this should interrupt our meal.”

Raven’s composure finally cracks. He shoots me an awkward glance, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and frustration. “Your Grace,” he says, his voice strained, “can we really discuss this so... openly? In front of him?”

Vallenora’s brow furrows in confusion, her gaze darting between Raven and me. “Why not?” she asks, genuine bewilderment coloring her tone. “He’s my husband. Why shouldn’t he hear about such matters?”

Raven lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes closing briefly as if summoning every ounce of patience he possesses. When he opens them again, his gaze is intense, almost pleading.

“Your Grace,” he says carefully, each word measured and deliberate, “it might be seen as... concerning to our forces if word spreads that one of us is capable of dispatching such a formidable threat so easily. It could raise questions and spark rumors. Surely you understand the delicacy of our position?”

Vallenora suddenly stiffens, her crimson eyes widening as understanding dawns across her ethereal features. “Oh, I see,” she breathes.

Then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, a radiant smile spreads across Vallenora’s face. Her eyes, twin pools of liquid fire, lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath away.

“Honey,” she purrs, her voice dripping with excitement and dark promise, “do you want to see your wife vanquish a giant all on her own?”

“There’s no need to do that for me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’d rather you be safe.”

Vallenora throws her head back and laughs, the sound ringing through the cavernous hall like crystal bells. “Nonsense,” she declares, her eyes sparkling with mischief and barely contained power. “This will be child’s play compared to the dragons.”

With a graceful movement, she rises from her seat. She extends a hand to me, her smile both inviting and predatory. “Come, my love. Let me show you just a modicum of my power once again.”

Raven steps forward, his face a mask of concern, dark eyes pleading. “Your Grace, I must strongly advise against this course of action. The risks are too great, and the potential consequences-”

Vallenora’s gaze snaps to Raven, her blood-red eyes suddenly devoid of all warmth. The temperature in the room seems to plummet, frost crystallizing on the edges of the nearby platters. When she speaks, her voice is as cold and sharp as a blade of ice.

“Please, Raven, don’t get it twisted,” she says, each word precise and cutting. “I let you speak to me this way due to a promise I made, but keep pushing, and even my patience has its limits. I am your ruler, after all.”

The air crackles with tension, magical energy swirling around Vallenora like an invisible storm. Raven takes an involuntary step back, his face pale, eyes wide with barely concealed terror. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the true power dynamic at play. Vallenora is not just a duchess but a force of nature.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the icy demeanor melted away. Vallenora turns to me, her face lighting up with genuine excitement. It’s as if the chilling moment with Raven never happened.

“Come, come, husband!” she exclaims, grabbing my hand. Her touch is warm and electric, sending tingles up my arm. “Let’s have an adventure!”