Page 5

“My prince, you’re late,” Balkazar huffed, knocking with greater force. “They’re all waiting on you. Your father is already here. He and your mother are⁠—”

“Fuck,” Sinadim spat and lurched to his feet, cock standing tall and stiff. Bloated with renewed vigor.

The games.

Teliah’s exhibition in the fighting sands.

He’d forgotten.

“Get up,” Sinadim snarled and hauled the dazed Hathorian to a stand. Unconcerned with the way her head lolled, her eyes unfocused as she struggled to get her feet beneath her. “Out. Now.”

“Yes, my Alpha,” she crooned, languid and dreamy. A soft, insipid smile tracing bruised and swollen lips.

He spun her, then. Sending her toward the only entrance to the harem. That well-stocked vault where his Hathorian females were kept under constant guard.

One way in, no way out.

Any who thought to take what he’d worked so hard to claim had to go through him.

And his army of hybrid sons.

With a callous shove, Sinadim sent her staggering into the dark. The lips of her cunt peaking out from beneath a golden tail still reddened and dripping. His seed squished free with every hesitant, stumbling step she took.

Slamming the door, he twisted the lock and set the bar in place. Sending a possessive glare whirling around his rooms, paranoid, searching for covetous thieves. His rut clouded the rational part of his mind that knew none would dare.

There was no one, of course.

Only his most trusted adviser waiting patiently in the hall.

Taking a moment to center himself, to embody the poise and grace expected of the Firstborn Karahmet son, Sinadim took a breath. Forced his claws to retract, his heart slowing from the wild rampage spawned by the thrall of a powerful rut.

Mane still bristling, he stalked to his chamber doors. Naked. Tail held aloft in an arrogant display meant purely to intimidate the other male, he threw open the door with a flourish.

Balkazar’s left brow twitched, nostrils pinched white when he was struck by the cloud of pheromones wafting off Sinadim’s skin. “Had a long night, my prince?”

“We’re running low on the oils,” he returned, voice gruff, signaling for the war chief to enter while he dressed. “Crafty little bitch caught me off guard, too.” He selected a shirt at random, tugged it into place, then stepped into yesterday’s pants. Moving with haste, he hopped. Needing nothing so much as a bath, he tucked his sticky cock behind his laces, tied them with fumbling fingers, then pulled his tail through the split at the back of the garment.

“You know they have to wait for you, right?” Balkazar drawled and held out an ornate mane guard.

A heavy mantel that draped over Sinadim’s spine and concealed any minor emotional twitches of his mane that might weaken his standing amongst so many of the Sultan’s elite advisers and foreign dignitaries.

“The outcome of these games result in the naming of your wife, after all.”

Sinadim laughed, fastening the clasps around his shoulders. Green eyes twinkling when he said, “By the Nine, grant Teliah the strength to win the day.”

Shaking his head, Balkazar draped a cloak stitched with the Firstborn’s emblem over Sinadim’s shoulders. “Forgive my insolence, but my prince is out of his skull. Demure is beautiful, untouched, and comes from ancient blood with noble fore-bearers. Teliah”—he shivered, mane flaring in brief disdain—“is a widower.”

“Teliah is experienced,” Sinadim returned, shaking to settle his formal garb more comfortably about his shoulders. “Virgins are tedious. They require attention and careful diligence from those far more patient than I am. Teliah is…” The prince licked his lips, tail rising at the mere thought of the beguiling Anhur female who’d bewitched him. “Enthusiastic. Eager to prove herself worthy of a second match. And she’s run a large house. Given the choice between Teliah and a weeping virgin? I’ll take the practiced widower all day long.”

“Ah,” Balkazar hummed. “To be so jaded.”

Sinadim grinned. “A privilege of my Karahmet blood, no doubt.”

“Indeed. And speaking of privilege,” the war chief drawled, “I need to stop by the corkers to place a small bet… you understand.”

Holding the door as the other male exited his private rooms, Sinadim laughed, locking the heavy barrier with the key that had never left his neck. “Let me guess. You’ve a penchant for virgins and need to borrow a handful of coin?”

“It’s the privilege of my station,” Balkazar returned, a wicked gleam in ocean-blue eyes. “I’ll place my bet on Demur to win, and perhaps my prince will afford me the terribly dull duty of slicking my cock with virgin’s blood, just so his royal highness avoids the skullduggery himself. If the Nine are feeling particularly cruel and she falls to Teliah, perhaps I might commiserate with Demure over our losses and wet my cock with virgin’s blood.”