Unlucky; it's a scouting party from the barbarian horde

Arrows whistle into the midst of your party, taking down two more of the bodyguards furthest away from you and injuring three others. Oddly enough, none seem to be aimed particularly close to you and Broderick.

The arrows cease as half a score of barbarians come galloping out of the woods on mangy, yet tough-looking mounts, all of them stowing away bows and pulling out an assortment of spears, swords, axes and other dangerous looking instruments of war.

The rough-looking barbarians seem to have no uniform of common theme to their dress. Some of them wear furs, some chain-mail, and some a mix of the two. A particularly large one riding at the front wears nothing but boots and a loincloth, seeming to disdain protection in the face of battle.

Broderick pushes his horse between you and the invaders, cutting down three of them before his horse is stabbed by a spear, causing it to throw him off. He hits the ground and doesn't move, prompting you to call his name in fear.

You're not sure if Broderick is dead or merely ****, but either way, the barbarians ignore his prone form and head straight for you.

While the barbarians hold back the bodyguards still able to fight, the loin-cloth clad leader yanks you roughly off your horse and across the front of his saddle.

Once he has you, the barbarians turn to flee run, evidently not willing to lose any more of their number just to finish off the bodyguards.

You see them systematically shooting arrows into the horse of your bodyguards as they ride away however; they obviously don't want to be followed.

You struggle to try to get off the horse you're lying across; maybe if you can fall to the ground, it'll give your bodyguards time to catch up.

The barbarian leader doesn't seem to need anything more than his legs to guide his horse however; he pins you down with one strong hand, while the other begins delivering stinging slaps to your wriggling backside.

You can practically feel your buttocks turning red under the barbarian's firm hand, and you hear him firmly order you to be "Still" several times in a heavily accented version of your tongue.

You yelp in pain, tears coming to your eyes, and you reluctantly give up on struggling.

The barbarian's hand ceases its brutal spanking of your derrière the moment you're still, though he does give it a few gentle, rather over-familiar pats.

Leaving your guards behind, the barbarians ride off through the woods for several hours, leaving all hope of rescue far behind you.

You start to wonder why the barbarians were willing to risk such a fight just to capture you...did they somehow manage to find out that you were the prince? It seems impossible, but you can't think of any other reason...

You feel relief when the barbarian leader finally dismounts and lifts you to the ground.

You aren't tied up, but you don't suppose you need to be...you're hours from any town and there are eight large and athletic-looking savages ready to catch you and bring you back if you try to run anywhere.

Leaving you huddled against a tree, the barbarian leader turns to his men and gives them a brief, but enthusiastic speech in the barbarian's crude-sounding tongue. You can't understand a word, but you guess he's congratulating them on a job well done.

Taking out a bag, the barbarian hands out an assortment of coins and chips of silver and gold to his men; apparently their payment for taking part in his raid. You assume he'll get his own payment by turning you over to the leader of the barbarians. The only son of a king should be worth quite a bit after all...

Finally, the barbarian leader dismisses his men, and they scatter to various tasks in setting up camp.

The barbarian leader turns to you with a big grin on his scarred - yet not unhandsome - face. Without trees whipping by at the speed of a galloping horse, you're more conscious of just how large and well-muscled the barbarian is.

He's at least a head taller than you, with far broader shoulders. His chest and arms all ripple with solid muscle as well; you're pretty sure he could pick you up with one hand.

He squats down in front of you and points a finger to his chest, saying "Odbrak." Then he points to your chest in turn, as if waiting for you to introduce yourself.

You freeze up for a second. If they kidnapped you knowing you're the prince, shouldn't they already know your name? Maybe they don't know after all?

Odbrak's finger jabs at you more insistently, and you unfreeze, answering, "Mia." Maybe they know, maybe they don't, but it's better not to give away your identity if you aren't sure.

Odbrak smiles again, repeating your false name with a nod.

You want to know once and for all why you've been taken, so you wave your hand around above your head, trying to convey a simple question by combining the gesture with a question. "Why?"

Odbrak seems to catch your meaning after a brief pause. His grasp of your language's tongue is crude, but he doesn't appear to be simple-minded. He did manage to successfully ambush a group of elite bodyguards after all.

He grins wider than ever and explains in broken, yet easily understandable language. "Odbrak see good woman. Take in raid. Odbrak's woman now."

You swallow nervously as he bears down on you, casually holding your shoulder to keep you in place while he hikes your dress up, exposing your lacy underwear.

After several seconds immobilized by shock, you start trying to convince Odbrak against his current course of action.

"W-wait! Stop! This is just a disguise, I'm a -" The barbarian evidently grows tired of your protests and locks his lips with yours. He's a forceful and domineering kisser, and you're short of breath when he releases your mouth.

Deciding he's had enough foreplay, Odbrak pulls your underwear down and off in a series of hard tugs, the undoes his own loin cloth.

A massive piece of meat springs free between the barbarian's legs, making you stare at it in shock for a second. If your own equipment is akin to a dagger, Odbrak's is more similar to mighty broadsword.

You feel a surge of relief as you remember you aren't actually a woman; you won't actually end up having to take that thing inside you.

Odbrak flips your dress back to get a good look at the hole he's planning on inserting himself, but finds your comparatively small - yet still very much male - wedding tackle in it's place.

The barbarian freezes in confusion for a second, so you take your chance to interject that you were saying earlier. "L-like I said. I'm just disguised as a woman, I'm actually a man."