I smile.“A hundred and one.”
Holding her to me, I rise to my feet, turn off the shower, and step out.She leansher head against my chest as I pat herdownwith a towel, not wanting to rub the bruises on herbody.Slinging the bath sheet around us, I carryherinto the bedroom andlayher down on the bed.
I want to take her to my room, where she belongs, but the entire suitewasupheaved during my “talk” with Jace.I’lltake her there in a coupleofdays, when the messiscleared and the roomisredecorated with her belongings.
Kissing her gently, I finally slideout of her.After pattingthe rest of her dry, I use a corner of the towel towipeupourcum.Then Icleanmy cock, taking special care around my piercing.Lying down on myside, Iwrapan arm across herwaist and pull her close.She snugglesagainst me and closesher eyes.
“I love you,” shesighsas she falls asleep.
And fucking hel, I wish I knew how to say it back.
Fifty-One
A good browniealways gives great advice.
Ribbit.Ribbit.-Arienna
“Are you sureI’m allowedto be here?”Iaskearly the next morningasIsquirmon the uncomfortable throne thatmy kingled me to.Mychairistaller thanhis.More prominent.Butthat is not a good thing considering it also has a lot more sticks digging into my ass.I cannot believe that the people who carved this beautiful room out of the tree –with its arching ceiling and the two lines of pillars running up from the middle of the room, with the dais of twenty-six steps leading up two seats of power–arethe same people who built this godsawful chair.It’s utterly menacing to look at, with its twisting vinesof thorns;it’s utterly horrendous to sit inbecause of them.I am not a fan of murder, but whoeverthoughtof this thing needsto be stabbed.And whoever built it needsto have their hands cut off so theycannever woodwork again.
“I haven’t been crowned yet,”I say as I wiggle some more.
“Relax,”Richard says.“No one is going to challenge your rightto be here.”
Bugger.I really wish they would so I could get out of this chair without seeming rude.BeforeIcanthink of another reason to escape,my kingsignals toJace toopen the double doorsof the Throne Room.
They swing open, granting ustheview of a long line of people snaking across one of the branches of our city.My mouth drops open as I finallysitstill in my seat.Dear gods, I’m supposed to helpallof these people?Me?
I tracetwo fingers over one of the many purple ravens embroidered on my black jumpsuit.I’m tryingnot to panic,but aweek ago, the only responsibility I had was to my pet wasps.Yetnow,I’m expected to give guidance to all these people?
Oh dear gods.
They’d be better off if they asked a frog for advice.
As a young heterosexual couple walks in, I nearly bolt off my seat, but Richard reaches over and grabs my hand.He forces my fingers to stop fidgeting.I glance over at him, ready to tell him I’m a terrible person to ask for advice, but as soon as I catch his eye, my words fade.As does the world around us.
Under the sharp silence of his gaze, I barely hear the couple’s repeated words of, “Your Majesty.”My king holds me until my heart calms.Until my thoughts turn back to normal, and I can breathe again.
My fingers tightening around his, I tear my gaze away from him and look at the couple waiting for me to speak.Ribbit.Ribbit.
Taking a deep breath, my voice only slightly strained, I say, “Good hopping.How fraywe be of service?”My cheeks heatas I realise what I said.The ‘hopping’ was bad enough, but then I had to go and mix ‘frog’ and ‘may’?Come on!
As stiff silence descends, the couple stares at me dumbly.
Everything about the man looks tired, from his messy light-green hair to his rumpled grey shirt to his scuffed black leather shoes.His shoulders are stooped; his eyes are haggard, and his wings have the dullest glow I’ve ever seen.
The woman is the complete opposite.Strong and virile, she stands with her head held high, her shoulders back, and her thick full lips set in a thin, unimpressed line.Her lush blonde hairliesin a plait across one shoulder, and woven into it is a bright-green ribbon.She’s beautiful and fierce.
She’s also the first one to recollect herself.
“I want a divorce,” she says, short and clipped.“I will not be married to this asshat any longer.”
The man winces; she ignores him.I glance at Richard, uncertain of what to do.In Brownston, if someone wants a divorce, they simply hold a divorce party.On average, we go through about seventy-two divorces before we die, with the record being two hundred and sixty-three.It really isn’t that big of a deal, so I have no idea what these two want from us.
“What’s the reason for divorce?”Richard asks.
“He tried to get me to have a threesome,” the woman sneers, confusing me even further.
How is that a bad thing?In Brownston, all sex is good.We even have a statue of Moriana Deglare because she was the first to have seven cocks inside her at once.She’sbeen immortaliseddown on all fours,with her mouth open.Her three holes arealllined with soft mosstoo.
