Page 14

Mane going flat, face ashen, Sinadim didn’t feel the trap snap shut until it was far, far too late. “Grandfather⁠—”

“And you, Firstborn, shall spend the last months of your bachelorhood making amends with the Zaganos clan,” the Sultan cooed, a sly grin spreading over thick lips. “By any means necessary. Secure in the knowledge that your bride’s womb shall remain free of seed not of the Karahmet line.”

Every last drop of color drained from Sinadim’s face, and before he was aware of the panic flooding his limbs, the prince was on his feet. “My Sultan, you can’t⁠—”

The butt of a spear struck his back, the Sultan’s honor guard reacted in an instant. Barely anything at all, but an extension of the Sultan’s will, the hybrids acted without a spoken order. Oozing from the shadows as if they shared the Sultan’s mind.

One of the brutes twisted Sinadim’s arms behind his back, while the other spun his weapon, only to press the deadly point against the base of the prince’s skull.

The rest floated forward, spears at the ready. A loose half-circle of the Sultan’s guard surrounded Sinadim where he was pinned to the floor. Helpless.

“I do this for you, boy,” the Sultan drawled, escorting a pale Teliah up the three steps, across the dais. To the throne, where he sat in a poof of silks and luxury. Watching through sly, slitted eyes as Sinadim was forced up. Made to perch on his knees at the point of a spear, a passive observer when the Sultan added a deceptively gentle pressure to Teliah’s shoulder and made her kneel, too.

“A widow for a queen?” the elder snorted, taking a fist full of rich brown hair Sinadim had meant to cradle. “She must be held to a higher standard than an untouched female. There will be no question of the purity of your brats. Their bloodline assured by the Sultan himself.”

Snarling, Sinadim was held in place, mane fully risen. His control swallowed by the edges of a frantic temper.

Helpless against the threat of death.

The perfect mirror of his bride, who watched with horror in her eyes when the Sultan brought forth his bloated length with a flourish of the supremely confident. The spoiled few who knew only obedience to their every depraved whim. That the female before him was duty-bound to obey, even while her prospective husband looked on.

Horrified, sick with rage, yet unable to do anything but watch when the Sultan slipped his thumb between Teliah’s lips, Sinadim shook. Trembling when the Sultan pulled her forward with the point of golden claws and made her kiss that royal scepter.

A pearly string stretched long and shining. Connecting them.

“Show me,” the Sultan ordered and fisted his length in a grip tight enough to purple his knob. “Show me what your dear late husband taught you. That you are worthy of carrying the Karahmet blood.”

Cheeks burning a deep shade of crimson, Teliah didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t. She didn’t offer so much as a glance back to where Sinadim knelt, held immobile at the point of a spear.

On fear of punishment, she obeyed.

Sucking her Sultan down with a straight back, she did her duty to the throne.

And if her eyes grew damp with the shameful sheen of tears, Sinadim found he couldn’t blame her for the weakness.

Instead, he watched. Jaw tight enough to shatter his molars, muscles shivering where he was held in place. Refusing to so much as blink and miss a moment of this precious thing being stolen from him.

From her.

Teliah set her jaws to open as far as they might go. Let her Sultan work toward the back of her throat, and swallowed when he got there. Gagging around a cough when he pressed further still—Sinadim saw the clenching gulp of stretched cartilage, the ridges of her throat slipping over so invasive a bulge. And he heard the whistle of breath when she exhaled against the soft folds of the Sultan’s belly.

Forcing it deep as she could take it, the Sultan hummed when she retched and spluttered. “Use your tongue, widow. Get that royal cock nice and wet to make up for what you desperately lack in skill.”

In a bid to obey, to please, Teliah pulled her hair back. Set her palms to trace his thighs, leaving rumpled silken pants in the wake of her touch. Quivering tail tucked between her legs, she didn’t stop until both palms found the apex of the Sultan’s thighs. Cupping the heavy sack she found there, slowing only long enough to knead where he was thickest.

The base of an expanding knot.

As if bored by her efforts, the Sultan took over. Gathering her hair in clenched fists, he set his heels and forced her still.

Hips pumping, he fucked her throat. Offering no hint of finesse, selfish in a race toward climax, he stretched her gullet with each selfish thrust and pulled a raunchy gleck, gleck, gleck straight from the bottom of Teliah’s gut. Picking up speed until those sounds all blended together in one constant stream of wet and debauched, before easing off and allowing her to pull a haggard, wheezing breath between swollen lips. “You’ve a lot to learn, widow,” the Sultan drawled, disinterested despite the mess he was making of another’s bride. He worked her esophagus at his leisure, no matter the strings of drool, the tears, or the snot.

Cheeks pink and wet, Teliah tried to pull back. Tried to fill her lungs with another breath—and was denied.

Instead, the Sultan said, “You’re going to take every drop, now. Swallow it all down and show Hadim’s brat that a widow has her uses after all.”

A wet gurgle was all she could manage.

He let her breathe, then. Releasing Teliah’s thick, glossy locks as she sucked in desperate breaths, his hands moved to her lips. Fingers pressing back, over her tongue, where he toyed with her gag reflex. Plunging two fingers all the way back while her hands worked his shaft. Cock an obscene twitching monstrosity that bobbed before her, glossy and dripping with interest.