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I close my eyes and think of eerie golden eyes and a peach mouth as moisture engulfs cock. The duke’s daughter is quite proficient at sucking a man off. He might have had her trained for tonight. She bobs her head up and down faster and faster, tongue flicking the tip. I picture Rhea and let myself enjoy the friction. My hips start to move, and the petite, rail-thin blonde stops. My eyes fly open just to see her get to her feet, turn around and lifts her skirt. She hasn’t bothered to wear anything underneath.Why would she, given her purpose?
I let her ride me, utterly bored, detached. Coming takes a while, as I’ve been drained several times, in a much more satisfying manner just hours ago, but I do eventually fill her up, like I’m supposed to. I’m shooting blanks, my cum entirely void of the seed she’d need to create a life, but the farce continues all the same. In about ten to twelve hours, come morning, someone else’s daughter or wife or cousin will demand the same out of me.
I thank her, and her father, and get up the moment they’ve left to take a long, scorching bath.
I don’t care what she thinks of me, Rhea’s the key to ending this interminable bore, so I’ll cling to her until she frees me. Only then will she be permitted to die if she so pleases.
14
RHEA
The temperature rises, and to my surprise, we are also fed that night.
In the morning, I’m even given clothing—an outfit from my own chest consisting of pants, a shirt, and a light leather vest.I immediately check the hidden pockets inside, and to my shock, they’ve left my vial of poison.
I can’t decide whether it’s out of stupidity or utter disdain for my abilities. If a dagger to the heart didn’t kill the king, what could a few drops of poison do against him? Not much, I’d wager. I’m glad to have it all the same. It’s lethal if ingested, but I can also coat my blades with it. In direct contact with blood, it’ll slow down most enemies.
I would have also liked my shoes, but barefoot is a far sight better than entirely bare.
The fact that we’re not mistreated does nothing to lessen my anxiety. The king himself said we were here to be made examples of. Our sentences will be harsh. He’s pretending to be magnanimous because he has eyes from both sides of the border on him today, otherwise we would no doubt have been beaten and tortured down in the dungeons. And there’s time enough for that later.
Two guards lead our procession, and three more march behind us. We’re not in chains, or bound at all, other than the anklets at our feet, and it feels like a test. They want to see if we’re going to attempt to flee. Part of me is dying to try, but that doesn’t seem wise. This palace is complex and they’re familiar with every inch. The rest of us, not so much. And if we somehow make it out, then what? The rest of Starfall is just as foreign to us.
Everything aside, we still have a chance to complete our mission.
We’re led back to the ballroom where I met the king just last night. There’s little difference between night and day under their evernight sky, but more candles have been lit, and all the curtains are pulled and tied, letting in the light of their bright moon. It’s their version of day.
My eyes have accustomed a little to the darkness, after days on end without seeing the light of the sun. Nonetheless, I miss it.
The court and guests all stare as we’re escorted to the king’s dais. He alone sits, with three men and women on their feet to either side of him. Vessorian and Silver are the two closest to the throne, then next to the advisor, there’s a buxom woman with midnight skin and long white hair, followed by Alrion. On Silver’s side stand two men I’ve never seen; one taller than even the king, with a shaved head and several facial piercings—his eyebrows, a teardrop, the bridge of his slim, long nose, on top of his lips. The last man is stocky, a pile of muscles upon muscles, with flaming red hair.
Seven of them. We’re facing the entire circle, if Doryn spoke the truth to me last night.
Vessorian steps forward.
“Lucella Vernok, Kriss Seron, Sorsha Woods,” he calls, using our real names. I don’t need to wonder how he knows them. My glare seeks out Alrion. “You stand accused of infiltrating Nyxar under false pretenses, espionage, fraud, and last but not least, conspiring to murder our king. Rhea Lance, in addition to all those charges, you are accused of striking and wounding King Caldoryn Valderath. How do you plead?”
Caldoryn. I hate that name. I hate that man. Somehow, there’s a divide in my mind between Doryn, the man I met, and this hateful king on his throne. I despise both for very different reasons.
There’s little chance of being found anything but guilty, so I opt to save myself some humiliation. “Ashamed to have missed.”
I wouldn’t have liked to murder Doryn. I would have relished Caldoryn’s demise.
The murmurs flying through the crowd are excited, elated, and shocked. In the eyes of the nobles, this is nothing but a spectacle for their entertainment. From his throne, Caldoryn smirks. He even lied about his name. What I would do to permanently wipe his smug grin off his face.
“Silence,” Vess demands, never rising his voice.
The court stops all chatter. He’s more than a mere advisor, that man. He’s the king’s fist, holding the weight of his authority in his every word, his every move.
“And the rest of you?”
“What she said,” Sorsha sneers. “We’re not ashamed of fighting for what’s right! For Allea!”
The others nod their agreement.
I would have liked to see a nod of assent, a look of support at least, from the men and women clad in bright reds and golds, but they’re all looking at us like we’re the crazy extremists, the enemies. Don’t they realize what’s going on in Allea?
Of course they don’t. They’re nobles, content growing fat in their castles or in great, fortified cities. They haven’t seen their houses burned, they haven’t heard their families scream, they weren’t given a choice between being fucked or killed by monsters from the north.
