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Flesh & Frustration
I was not supposed to fall in love with the queen—and I wasn't so much in love withheras I was with her power, her confidence, the regality she possessed. Her cruelty was a double-edged sword, but even with that knowledge, my dick still reacted every time I caught her scent of apple andfrost.
I glanced at her now as she put on her corset. Maids laced it up precisely and let their fingertips trail over her ivory flesh. The queen had an unnatural magnetism that made you want to please her. She was feared, undoubtedly, but worshipped at the same time. The maids fell over themselves to help her and the guards salivated when she flaunted herself. She enjoyed riling you up and controlling what you did with the excitement. The queen demanded ultimate control in and outside of her bedroom. I wasn’t the dominating type of guy, so I didn’t mind. As part of her royal guard, I remained at her side unless I was on a mission or training. Then, it was easy for her to beckon me to her bed. Since the queen made her guard, staff, and inner circle swear celibacy to all but her, I was lucky I got my dick wet at all.
The queen gestured to me, and I went to her immediately. She was meeting with a Feist diplomat about a borderland disturbance, and meeting with representatives from the northern kingdoms always put the queen in a foul mood. Things with the northwestern kingdom of Demora had improved over the years with the inexperienced Duke Haverell and younger nobles taking over for their fathers. But that was not yet the case with the northeastern kingdom of Feist. The royals in Feist were distantly related to the late king and prince and vigorously fought against Amira at every turn. For a good reason, they had a stake in the claim to the throne if Amira failed. Her marriage vows were the only thing keeping her seat in ruling Catalan.
The stories around Queen Amira’s rule were not good ones. Many believed she made a bargain involving dark magic with King Renaud for Prince Olsfor’s hand in marriage. The deal was to save Renaud’s third wife from death in childbirth. The child died before entering the world, but the curse spared his wife. She died only a few months later in a tragic carriage accident. The king killed himself shortly after. No one knows the details of the bargain or whether the deaths were from the deal.
Amira and I walked side by side down the hall. The palace was a dark, formidable structure inside and out. I had heard it wasn’t always so, but I wasn’t around to see it then, so I had nothing to compare.
The queen’s chin raised, her steps calculated, but I felt the tenseness in her body. She tried to hide her paranoia. The queen feared someone would overthrow her, and it was such deep-rooted anxiety that it became an obsession. No amount of flattery or comforting words helped. So, I stopped offering them. Others still did, and she disregarded them for it. Amira despised any weakness, and she loathed herself for feeling it. I was good at reading people; otherwise, I would never have known. As a royal guard, I had access to see more of her than most.
Queen Amira stood at the door to the parlor and sucked in a deep breath. At least she wasn't meeting them in the formal throne room. The parlor was cozier and the chairs more comfortable—not that I planned to stick around.
“Is there anything else you require of me, my queen?”
Her violet eyes flickered up to mine. The tiny stream of sunlight that filtered in from the windows above made her hair glisten like sunlight off the water.
“Come inside, Huntsman.”
I only half-listened to the debate. I hated politics. All the posturing and egotistical bullshit weren’t for me. In this situation, though, I sided with the kingdom of Feist. The country to the east, Franconia, was pushing their luck at our borders. The Duke of Feist was just looking for help, but the way they asked for assistance ruined their chances with the queen.
“King Renaud knew this was a problem and gave instructions to Prince Olsfor. You know this, my lady queen. Why is nothing being done?”
“Colinsforth, I understand your concern, but I cannot stand to lose men at a border outpost for some posturing. If they have not made an adequate threat, I don’t feel it beneficial to step in.”
I'll give the queen credit, she tried to be diplomatic, but it was a petty issue. Send the men, make a show at the border that Franconia’s games wouldn’t be tolerated, and call it a day. It surprised me that the queen held back bloodshed. She tried to be a fair ruler and put aside her cruelty. Sometimes. Usually, she would have relished the idea of showing Franconia our might. Instead, she looked like the calm, tactful ruler shecouldbe but typically wasn’t.
Queen Amira ruled by emotion and mood. Today she just wanted to do the opposite of what everyone expected from her.
“Prince Olsfor—”
“King Olsfor, if you please, councilor. If you do not remember, my late husband was sworn in as King at his father’s untimely demise.”
The man turned pale at the change in the queen’s tone. He must have realized he was pushing it with her good graces. Prince Olsfor had taken the throne with Amira at his side two decades ago. Some say it was apparent the prince detested his wife and thought her the reason for his parents’ deaths. His death soon followed, and rumors about the queen’s involvement in it all followed. It was terrifying, but I could see her hand in it. She had wickedness and a clever mind that thirsted for power. If she wanted you disposed of, you would be. She would never have to lift a black-tipped finger for it to be so.
Like now, Councilor Colinsforth’s death was looming; I could feel the tang in the air.
I opened my mouth to suggest something, but Bereille’s low baritone echoed from his spot on the far wall. “May I suggest a small regiment, my queen? Older guards—ones we could stand to lose. They can put on a big show at the post and push back any border resistance. I can send Commander Harvall to meet with the Franconia general if an issue arises.”
The queen’s eyes went from dismembering Colinsforth to Bereille. There was an unspoken power play between them, something that happened often. At first, I thought they hated each other, but I wasn’t sure. Bereille was always playing damage control, and he was likely the only reason the queen was even still in power. So many would die if she acted on her impulses without his involvement and downplay. Her temper was uncontrollable, her rationality unstable.
The councilor nodded. “We will take what we can get, Sir Bereille.”
Bereille awaited the queen’s acknowledgment, her acceptance of his proposal before he looked at anyone else. Amira didn’t want to do as Bereille suggested. She wanted to tell the guards to rip out the Feist diplomat's heart. I could see it in her fisted hands, her body poised on edge. She also didn’t want Bereille to look like the hero. He so often did, and she detested that. I’m not sure what she hated more; Bereille’s efficient solution for this situation or that she didn’t get to dole out the punishment she sought. But as she wrenched her eyes from Bereille to the counselor, you could see her realize that denying his request would be a volatile mistake.
“Very well, Councilor, you will have your small army to ensure your borders remain safe.”
“Thank you, my lady queen. You are most gracious.” He bowed so low I feared I might need to pick him up off the floor.
With a withering glare, Amira turned on her heel and gestured to me. I met Bereille’s sharp brown eyes before I stepped up to the queen and offered my arm.
She turned to me when we entered her bedroom and shredded my clothing. I did nothing but watch her as she ripped at the laces of my vest, then yanked my tunic from my pants and painfully wrenched it over my head. Her nail left a trail of blood as she slid it down my chest and abdomen. She snapped her fingers to a maid, who helped remove her clothing. Then the queentore the fabric of the maid’s dress, leaving one shoulder yanked down past her breasts.
Queen Amira used our flesh to take out her frustration.
Restless Heart
