Chapter 1 - a bargain over shepherd’s pie

The warm light of the witch’s cottage glinted off of Lev’s breastplate and cast deep shadows on the bare-faced knight’s expression of disgust. The witch sat in an immodest gown whose buttons dented slightly against her pudgy frame, a clear result of frequent indulgences like tonight’s. She was devouring the offering Lev had brought, making her way through the third of a dozen large bowls of shepherd’s pie, washed down with deep draughts directly from a pitcher of rich cream, as she listened to Lev describe the princess the knight had been sent to look for.

“Her father described her as having auburn hair, much like yours, with dark eyes and clear skin, except for a birthmark on her waist in the shape of a star. The rich garments and jewelry she was last seen with may have been stolen or lost, but those features would make her distinctive–”

“If she were to go around with her midriff exposed,” the witch said through a mouthful of potatoes. “Mmhf. Did the butcher tell you I enjoyed this pie the most? The spices in this aren’t common here and are usually reserved for the mayor’s feasts. You must be quite desperate to find her. Got something to prove?” The witch covered her mouth to stifle a cough–or a belch, Lev thought, lips curling in distaste. The knight looked away. “Alas, I’ve seen no such girl prancing about town half-naked. Perhaps you’d be better served looking in a brothel? You look like you could use a trip in any case.”

Lev bristled. “You’re said to have ways to find the secrets of the world with that crystal ball of yours, so find her–”

“Oh. This? It’s a decoration. The only secrets of the world I’m interested in are matters of philosophy–and what spice the butcher adds to these in secret. Mmmph. Cinnamon? That would explain the price.”

“Enough. Clearly I’ve wasted my time and coin here.” Lev stood from their chair opposite the witch and hurried to the door past the witch, discomfort apparent in the knight’s unsettled gaze and gait. Trying to avoid bearing any more witness to her reckless indulgence–she was on the fourth heap of shepherd’s pie now–Lev’s eyes were fixed on the cottage’s floorboards.

Lev stopped. Light flickered between a crack in the floorboards. As the knight drew steel, the witch’s gaze followed Lev’s, and she said, “You don’t want to do that,” but, perhaps too full to get up and move, made no motion to prevent Lev from tromping over to the trapdoor in the corner of the room.

Lev lifted the door and descended a flight of creaky wooden stairs, prompting a muffled cry from the corner of the room. The knight hastened to the side of a thin woman’s figure, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Lev’s heart soared, then sank, realizing that the woman was blonde. Not the princess. Still, a knight had a duty.

Lev spared a glance at the trapdoor in case the witch’s stomach had settled enough for her to close the hatch and lock them both down there; satisfied that she must still be nursing her overfullness, the knight cut the woman’s bonds and pulled off her gag and blindfold, revealing a pair of sunken, frightened eyes. “Please, get me out, she–the things she did–she made me–”

Lev put a hand on each of her shoulders and spoke calmingly. “You’re safe. I’ll bring you upstairs, then you can run to the temple of the Three.” The woman nodded with vigor that would put a woodpecker to shame, then followed Lev up the stairs and to the door.

Lev saw with surprise that the witch was still seated at the table, stuffing herself–she was on the sixth serving, now, euphoria evident in every eager bite. The woman beside Lev put her hands to her mouth and convulsed with a dry heave, then scrambled out the door.

Confident that the woman would be fine on her own now, Lev advanced upon the witch, sword drawn, and pointed it at her throat even as it bulged with the passing of a huge mouthful of pie.

“The princess. You will tell me where she is or I will spit you like the pig you are. How many others have you kidnapped? If she has been harmed in any way, I’ll cut and quarter you instead.”

“Oh, I’ve kept her quite safe, I assure you. Now put that sorry thing away; I can hardly tell you where she is with my throat slit.” Lev glared at her for several heartbeats, then sheathed the blade. “Sit. Care for some pie?”

Lev remained standing. “Spit out the truth, witch. Where is she?”

“She is here.” Lev glanced back at the cellar door, then down the hallway leading to the witch’s quarters. “By all means, check if you like, but you won’t find her. Not without doing me a favor, first.”

“I have already paid you more than you deserve.”

“And yet, it is not enough. Will you leave now, so close to your goal?”

“...Make your demand.”

“Serve me,” she replied.

“My fealty is not yours to have–”

“I mean the food.” Lev hesitated, then, teeth grit, stepped beside the table and shoved the rest of the pies toward her. She smiled lazily. “My arms tire. Won’t you help me finish?” Lev kicked the table angrily, and the witch showed her first moment of alarm as she leaned forward to steady the pitcher and pies, grunting as her stomach dug into the edge of the table.

“Stop toying with me, or–”

“Or what? ‘Tis a simple task. You were quick enough to lift a blade to my throat for the princess’s sake. Will you abandon her because you could not lift a fork to my lips?” She finished pushing the food back a safe distance from the edge of the table, then leaned back in her chair. “Feed me, and she will be freed. Or don’t, and return to sulk in the shadows of greater knights, a failure–”

At that Lev surged forth, seizing a heap of pie in hand and cramming it into the witch’s open mouth. Surprise and delight played in her eyes as Lev repeated the act with barely enough time for her to swallow, an expression of hard rage on the knight’s face. “Chew, then, and swallow quickly; I’ll not have you choking before you free her,” Lev snarled.

The witch swallowed, gasping for quick breaths between mouthfuls of spiced mutton and mash as Lev continued to stuff her with the remainder of the meal; head thrown back like a nestling awaiting a meal, she leaned back in her seat, making more room for her gut to spread into her lap as it strained against the confines of her gown, a row of soft pink hills forming in the gaps between the buttons.

Something caught in the witch’s throat and she began to cough and sputter, and for the moment the torrent of food abated, only to be replaced by a torrent of rich, cool cream, which cleared the obstruction; she felt the knight push her head back and pour the rich drink into her mouth, and she drank deep, descending into a stupor of satisfaction, her stomach swelling further beneath her clothes. Finally, the flood of cream ended as Lev tossed aside the empty pitcher and resumed cramming the last of the pie into her eager maw, her hands gripping the armrests in white-knuckled ecstasy.

The feast demolished, the witch lifted her head to regard Lev, who stood over her, red-faced, and the empty table beside her, groaning in satisfaction as she saw and felt the fullness of her stomach, which now held every last crumb of the enormous meal Lev had brought. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then, with a crescendo of dull snaps, the full orb of the witch’s belly burst out of the restrictive gown, its buttons clattering across the floor, and her stomach rose and fell with her labored breaths. She slipped her hands beneath the lower swell of her gut to test its weight, and the cloth of her gown fell aside to unveil a distinctive blemish on her taut skin.

“You’ve freed me, fair knight,” said the witch, the princess, with a sarcastic, food-drunk smile, resting a hand on the gravid curve of her middle, framing the birthmark on her skin with her fingers and thumb. A birthmark in the shape of a star.

There was no disgust in Lev’s eyes now. There never had been. What shone in Lev’s eyes was a burning lust.

“Now take me,” the princess whispered. And so Lev did.