“Fuuuuuuck, Daisy. That’s it, good girl,” he groans as he leans forward to play with my hardened nipples.
I hum, hollowing out my cheeks as he continues to assault my throat with his cock, my jaw aching from the size of him.
“Fuck. That’s it.” He grunts, upping his pace as he nears his release. “Swallow me, baby.”
He groans loudly, emptying his hot cum into my throat, the salty liquid sliding down. He releases my nipples and pulls out of my mouth, panting.
“Fuck. You’re incredible.” He grins from above me.
I wipe my face to clean up the spit and cum I didn’t manage to swallow, and sit up. “Was that… good?” I nervously ask.
“Daisy,” he says, crouching down to hold my face in his hands. “That was fucking incredible.”
I blush as he leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead.
He tucks himself back in and then holds out a hand for me, “Ready to go to Luminaria?”
I glance at my dress. “I think it’s customary that I wear a new outfit for each realm, to match the vibe. Let me get changed.” I point to my face. “I should probably clean up whatever mess you’ve made of my face, too.”
He groans. “Fine. I fucking love that dress though. And wear panties, for gods’ sake. You’re going to be the death of me otherwise.”
I giggle, slipping into the bathroom, excited to see what the hell Lyivia has planned for me next.
Chapter 41
Korithax
There are days I wish I could tear away the crown and cast it into the void between the realms.
From the moment I took my first breath, I’ve been a symbol, a weapon, a looming heir carved from brutality and expectation. The Divine Six have watched me like hawks watching a serpent, waiting for the day I’d either snap the neck of fate, or fall beneath it. I was raised not as a son, not as a boy—but as the future ruler of Hell. And Hell, in all its brutal honesty, never offered me the luxury of weakness.
Each of the Divine Six has shaped my life in one way or another.
Seraphiel—the Voice of Judgement. Silver-plated justice with blind, glowing eyes and a tongue sharp enough to cleave empires in two. She never looked at me once without disdain. To her, I was a ticking time bomb, a creature born of violence. ‘Mercy is weakness,’ she once said, ‘and the King of Hell must never kneel for anyone.’ I’ve hated her since that day. How would she feelnow, knowing I’ve not only knelt, but it was for a mortal girl who holds my blackened heart in her delicate hands.
Amarithe—the Bloom of Light. She smiles when she lies and twists affection like a blade. With hair like liquid gold and a voice dipped in honey, she’s the most dangerous of them all. She called my mother unworthy behind silken smiles. I remember hearing her whisper it, “A flower rooted in ash cannot grow and be strong.” My mother had heard it too. She just smiled, knowing they had cast her fate long before she got a chance to prove herself worthy. She was worthy; they were the ones who weren’t.
Calrix—the Spear of Order. The militant bastard. His every breath is flame, every movement a declaration of war. He used to spar with me when I was barely tall enough to lift a blade, and every time he knocked me down, he would whisper that I was unfit, unworthy. His eyes lit with glee when I bled, the smile that would break across his face each time he carved a new scar into my skin would haunt my dreams as a boy. When I finally bested him, he said nothing. Just left a sword at my door, as if to say: You’ve earned this. Finally. Arrogant prick couldn’t even hand me it himself.
Elaron—the Whispering Star. Quiet, terrifying. His power isn’t brute force, but control. Controller of dreams, of memory, of thought. I never trusted him. Once, I awoke with a memory that didn’t belong to me—a garden of stars I had never seen, and a voice I had never known. I wonder if he’d planted it. I often wonder what manipulation he’s planted, tucked away in the minds of gods.
Mal’Thariel—The Architect. Cold and inhuman. Logic without mercy. He’s the one who reminds us all that we’re dust and design. That fate is not a thing to be fought, but followed. His presence alone bends time. He’s the creator of all, and his presence alone tells you he is not one to fuck with.
And then, there’s Velentha. The Oracle of Time. She was the only one who had never raised her voice, who had never struck me. But her silence was somehow always worse. Because when she looked at me, she didn’t see a boy. She saw the future… my future. She saw the ‘Child of Ruin’. Though her tone was soft when she called me it, it carried with it a weight of doom. I’ve never forgotten that name, the way it makes my skin prickle whenever it’s called.
They all treat my mother like she was never meant to sit beside my father. Almost like she was a placeholder, a fragile flower in a field of divine flame. Even as a child, I could see it. The looks, the snide remarks. Because she wasn’t one born of royalty, she wasn’t worthy. The way they erased her presence from the castle the second she passed. And when she had died, I saw no grief in them. Only relief.
If they dare treat Daisy that way—if they so much as look at her with that same contempt, I’ll raze the heavens. I’ll tear their temple down with my bare hands and drown the stars in their blood. She’s mine. Not because she belongs to me, but because I would carve out my own ribcage just to keep her safe.
I fear for her. Even as I plot her immortality, I fear they’ll never accept her. That they’ll find a way to rip her from me, just like they did to the first Queen. If the stories are true—and I believe they are—the Divine Six destroyed her because she was too beloved, too strong. And that made her dangerous. They feared an uprising, that the people would follow her, only listen to her, not them. Their fragility truly shone through when they decided they could have no other that was respected, or should I say feared, in such a way. It was them, and nobody else.
Now, I have offered them a weakness. Because now, I have something to lose.
I never wanted to be king. I’ve said that only to myself. I never wanted the throne, the rituals, the heavy silence of thecourt, the mask I wear to keep Hell in order. I’ve always found joy in the battlefield—leading armies, protecting my realm. I should have been a soldier. A blade to wield, not a crown.
But when my father stepped back a millennium ago, I had no choice but to. Peace was fragile then, trade routes unstable. Tensions with the outer realms were high, almost at breaking point. But I fixed it, I forged alliances, opened gates, and offered our weapons in exchange for their magic, their ores, their scholars. And it worked. For the last thousand years, there has been peace. I was handed responsibility at too young an age, but I made it work.
And yet, all of them—the rulers of the other realms—still dance to the strings pulled by the Divine Six.
