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Though I don’t feel particularly free myself, as the six disciples clutter my dais. They’re naked, as usual, painted in black swirls for Lughnasadh. I make a show of twirling the closest one around, placing my hand on her back to bring her bust down. She obediently bends until her palms are flat on the marble floor, her perky ass in the air. I lower my breeches and shove my cock inside its designated sheathe without bothering to prepare it for me. These girls are always ready, wet from the idea of power.
I need this to end, and soon, but while I can’t help it, I play my role to perfection, fucking each of them in turn until my cum’s dripping down their legs.
The last one takes longer, my empty balls struggling to comply, but I close my eyes and imagine that it’s Rhea’s tight cunt gripping me, instead of the pink-skinned priestess whose name I don’t know.
At long last, I finish inside her too, and gladly pull my pants up.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in dire need of a bath,” I announce to the crowd.
My lords and ladies cheer for me on my way out.
I love Nyxar. I have to remind myself of that again and again, so I don’t blast it all to hell in one fit of rage.
18
RHEA
Mir doesn’t rush me, so I linger in the pool until my fingers wrinkle, after the water grows cool, and then I remain longer yet, reluctant to leave this room where I can retain some illusion of safety. Once I am dressed, I will no doubt be brought back to the evil king I’m expected to serve on my literal knees.
I swim leisurely from one end of the pool the next, my strokes slow and awkward. I learned as a child in the summer, because living near a river with a strong current, it was necessary for my safety, but I’ve never enjoyed the exertion before today.
I’m not the kind of person who relishes physical effort as a general rule. I am too tired on a daily basis to move when it’s not necessary. Training has a point: keeping me alive when I’m facing an enemy. I practice swordplay when I must, but when left to my own devices, I much prefer to read before a fireplace. The one thing close to effort I genuinely enjoy is riding horses—and the horse is doing most of the work.
Regardless, I love this swim today, in the cavernous darkness of this room. I’m not even exhausted, which is a surprise as I must have been at it for more than an hour. And I’malwaysexhausted, for no reason at all.
I reach the edge of the pool and turn to start in the other direction. The tiny flying pixie is no longer alone, and all of a sudden, I regret having procrastinated in this pool.
Doryn’s now clad as he was yesterday, and earlier today as he pronounced my sentence: tight leather breeches, heavy boots and nothing else. He shed his crown and jewels, the image of the gallant courtier, concealing his might, his power. After seeing him on his throne, I wonder how I could have ever been fooled. The crown looks like it was made for him.
I also wonder if he’s allergic to shirts. Maybe he breaks into hives whenever he wears them for more than an hour. Or he’s aware of the fact that his sculpted chest would never fail to catch the eye, and uses his beauty as a weapon.
Not unlike me.
As he no longer wears the ugly, heavy necklace that covered his pectoral muscles last night, I notice that, like Mir, his nipples are pierced—with bars rather than rings. Is that a Nyxarian fashion? Would they do it to me? I grimace. I can’t imagine it’s painless. But to be frank, I’m unlikely to have many painless days in the immediate future. I stabbed the king. He showed me yesterday that he’s quite happy to make me pay for every bit of pain I inflicted on him.I feel my ass clench as I recall everything that was done to it. And if I’m honest, the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant. My core heat and tightens at the simple recollection.
I fucking hate him, and this place, and my body for reacting that way.
Doryn’s wound has already disappeared, like I never broke his skin.
What did he do with his heart? How did he remove it at all? The very notion makes me shudder. It’s unnatural.How is his blood pumping through his veins now?
I decide I don’t need to know.
“Like what you see?” He smirks at me, the picture of arrogance, privilege, and to my frustration, beauty.
The fact that I do unnerves me like nothing else. “As you’re the one who named me your whore, I’m guessing you do when you look at me,” I retort, summoning all my pride in my tone.
“And you’d be right in the assumption, darling Rhea.” He already sounded like he was mocking me with that name the first time he said it, but now, it’s nothing short of a taunt.
I’m the opposite of hisdarling. I’m his toy, his pet, and his prisoner.
“We both know the problem isn’t what I see. It’s what's happening in that pretty head of yours.” He doesn’t bother to shed his pants as he lowers himself into the pool.
His strides ought to be slowed down by the water according to all laws of physics, but before I can blink, he’s joined me on the other end of the pool, crossing the distance so fast. “And what comes out of this gorgeous mouth.”
His hand approaches my face tentatively, like he’s handling a wild animal whose reaction he can’t predict. I don’t move. I don’t even think I breathe. He cups my chin and runs his rough thumb over my lip.
“I could always fill it so nothing at all comes out of it,” he whispers, and I tremble.
