Smiling at the thought of making that magical dick hard, I tugged on my most recent creation. I had taken a pair of the full-length trousers from the wardrobe and re-hemmed them with a neat rolled hem and invisible stitching, into shorts that fit so perfectly I’d never give them up.
I spun and looked at my ass over my shoulder. The hem sat right where the curve of my ass started, which was the optimal shorts length for men who wanted to get their holes fucked with wild abandon. This was a scientific fact I had confirmed through years of empirical research.
I reached for one of the shirts, not caring which. Men’s shirts kind of all looked the same in Qoksmere: they were all crafted from off-white blousy linen and meant to be worn under prettier things. I hadn’t decided what I’d do to make the shirts more my style, but the lacing at the throat gave me some options. I tucked it into the shorts, then pulled on a pretty purple waistcoat, and buttoned halfway, styling it to look nice with the shirt and shorts.
When I walked out, Aeldryc was in the corridor. His eyes went to the shorts. His jaw tightened.
“Those are not trousers.”
“They were trousers! I improved them. Look at this hem.” I turned and lifted the edge to show him the stitching. “You gave me the sewing kit!”
“I thought you needed to mend something.” Aeldryc’s hand twitched at his side as his eyes dropped to the bare skin I’d revealed. The iron bracket on the wall next to his head let out a soft hum.
“On our walk to breakfast the other day, I saw an ogre in a loincloth. This is no worse than that!”
“That was different. That was cultural attire?”
“So? Shorts are my culture!” I wasn’t sure why I was being so stubborn about the trousers. Perhaps it was because of the way they made Aeldryc look at me. Or maybe I didn’t want tocompletely lose who I was in all the pomp and circumstance of the palace. I was a modern man with excellent fashion sense and a perfectly healthy and normal obsession with shorts. I mean, who didn’t like shorts?
“The Queen,” he said, his voice strained, “is expecting us. And those—”
A throat cleared behind us. We both turned to find a palace footman standing at the end of the corridor, resplendent in the Queen’s livery. He looked at my shorts and quickly shuttered his reaction.
“Commander, the Queen will receive you now.”
Aeldryc looked at me. Looked at the footman. Looked at the shorts. I could imagine the rapid cost-benefit analysis happening in his head, and he must have concluded that wrestling me into full-length trousers would take longer than the Queen’s patience would allow, because he gave a firm nod.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 12
Pip
ThewalktotheQueen’s audience chamber took us through a series of corridors that were progressively more intimidating—wider, taller, the stone giving way to marble, the iron sconces replaced by crystal and gold fixtures. The footman led us through a set of grand doors, sixteen feet tall, carved with patterns of vines and stars, and into a massive throne room.
Queen Delsynarea was seated on a high-backed throne, elevated on a dais, making her power far more visible than it had been in the sitting room. She wore deep blue robes that pooled around the chair like water. Lord Frost stood to her left, his posture rigid, his gaze flicking to my shorts with a flicker of disapproval before settling on a point over my head. Yep, he still didn’t like me. A woman sat at a desk, quill at the ready.
I wondered if the venue choice was intentional, a message, or if this just happened to be the room she was in.
She looked at my shorts. Her lips made a small twitch that I took to be approval, but maybe that was just the optimist in me.
“Sit,” she said, and gestured to two chairs across from her, positioned beside a small table that held a tea service and a plate of small, beautifully decorated cakes.
I rushed to a chair and sat. Aeldryc settled with military precision, even in a sitting position. My eyes locked on the cakes. Aeldryc’s gaze narrowed in a silent warning. I gave a little shrug. Last time, I’d thought I was dreaming. This time, I was just starving.
I went back to staring at the cakes, my mouth watering. I realized Aeldryc hadn’t given me time for breakfast—or maybe the blowjob and long shower were to blame. It was almost like he wanted me to fail!
“You may eat,” the Queen said.
I lunged for a cake. The first bite was so good I made a sound that had them both staring at me.
“What?” I asked. “I didn’t have time for breakfast!”
“Because you were bathing for a full hour,” Aeldryc muttered under his breath. I thought about that as I stole another cake.Perhaps it had been an hour. I didn’t have a watch, so who was to say?
The Queen watched me eat the cakes with an expression that hovered somewhere between bemusement and curiosity. So I took a third, because it turns out that vigorous sex with a fae warrior makes a person quite hungry. She didn’t stop me.
“Commander,” she said, turning to Aeldryc. “Your report on the twink.”
