AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was Tarick who shrugged. “We’re still stronger than…at least, when it comes to brute force against Malthens. They outnumber us, but we out-strength them.”
Beatrice frowned. “You speak as though another battle has already been…and decided upon.”
“It has,” said Jareth, firmly, finally drawing his attention away from Salas’ moving form. “We’ll meet Malthens at the Kingdom of Suscon in battle.”
A loud knock reverberated against the door, followed by a guard opening the door from the other side. A foreign dignitary from Malthens had arrived and was waiting to be seen into the room.
Looks were shared by the seated Diagorians and the King bade the foreign dignitary entrance.
Salas held his breath, both fearing and hoping that this particular dignitary was the same man he had left behind in Suscon, Jovack. His heart dropped, however, when someone he didn’t know, a middle-aged man dressed in the yellows of Malthens, strode into the room and claimed a seat as though he commanded the audience, slouching and glaring at the spread of people before him.
The man grabbed a cup nearest to him, spit out a hunk of chewing tobacco, and said his unenthusiastic salutations in his own language.
King Jareth, who appeared as though he had been expecting this odd guest, though wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about it, replied in Diagorian.
The man leveled a look to the King, ignoring the others in the room rudely. “I’m only here as a formality, beast. Though I am excited to hear what pleas for peace you have thought up for me. If you want me to pass along your letters to my King, promising to let him take you up the ass so you can keep your frozen wasteland, I’ll make sure he gets them.”
King Jareth, without a blink, responded something in Malthenian, which caused the new man’s face to grow bright red with obvious rage by whatever the King had said.
Salas cleared his throat, uncomfortable by the tone in the room, and the newcomer’s eyes shifted to him. The man’s eyes swept over him with interest, growing lustful in their heat as he took in Salas’ face. This was quickly followed by his gaze lazily undressing him as it swept further down, lingering at the fluttering fabric near his groin.
The conversation continued, but Salas looked over to see the King’s gaze cold and unforgiving on the foreigner.
When Salas began to pour water out into the cups, he was half-focused on the conversation transpiring, half-indulging the sweeping, admiring looks from the seated men and women in the room as he passed by, their eyes roaming the flesh on display as though discovering the only sweet cake at a dinner party.
Finally, when he reached the point where it was the Malthenian’s turn to be poured a drink, Salas hesitated. The idea of pouring water over the remains of what had been in this strange man’s mouth were highly unfavorable. Just disgusting.
Yet as he tried to make his way around the man, the man caught his wrist and held him fast. “Don’t forget about me, sweetheart.” The man grinned, shaking his cup before Salas.
As Salas reluctantly poured, the man reached a rough, weathered hand to test the quality of the fabric at Salas’ chest, though truly the gesture was obviously meant to disguise a chance for fingertips to brush upon the bud of his swollen nipple…
And that was when thunder built in the room, quelling all sound once more.
It was the King who made the interruption, growling low and threateningly, without an ounce of humanity within the savage sound. His eyes bore into the man, hinting at something beastly that stood upon the brink of murderous intent.
The man retracted slowly, as though he had all the time in the world, and drew his hand away.
From beside the King, Tarick looked nervous, continuing the discussion briskly.
They spoke more about finding some type of consensus with Malthens, the Diagorians wishing to name a date of battle on their own terms, though the dignitary only shook his head. “And what could you possibly offer me?” he wondered, his eyes sliding over to Salas in what Salas considered salacious ambition, though it appeared not everyone in the room seemed to pick up on the man’s hidden meaning.
In the end, the discussion amounted to nothing.
The meeting thinned in its urgency after its culmination, the declaration of battle and the reluctance of the Malthenian dignitary to meet terms, and eventually, the meeting drew to a close.
The man was shown out of the room when he stood, apparently to be shown to his quarters where he would stay until these fruitless “negotiations” were complete.
While everyone shuffled out of the room, the King remained seated.
When it was only Jareth and Salas who remained, the last of the participants shutting the door behind them, Salas finally approached the King, having kept his distance throughout the meeting, given the King’s disappointedly harsh mood.
Salas next idea would cheer him up!
“Your Grace,” Salas began earnestly, swelling with ideas and social designs as he thought over what had transpired at the meeting. “Did you not see how the man looked at me during the meeting?”
The King remained seated, his body a rigged, tense spring as Salas approached. “I saw,” he ground out, his tone bleak, devoid of emotion.
“It is perfect!” Salas sighed, admiring his own brilliance that stirred in his head.
