8
Xannirin’s sitting chamber rivaled one of the smaller ballrooms on the main level of Gyor Palace in size and opulence, a glaring reminder of how far I was from where I belonged—on the battlefield. Massive fire pits roared into columns carrying the smoke up and out of the room while elegant black fur rugs that lined the floor between tables and loungers. On two sides, large windows provided an unparalleled view to the Skala Mountains, stars winking into existence over their sharp peaks as the moon rose alongside them.
A bottle of my favorite alcohol, a dark amber drink infused with pepper known as scale in the Demon Realm, waited on the gray wood table with two glasses. Xannirin sprawled on a lengthy, elegant leather sofa, flipping through a book as I entered his space.
He closed it and set it to the side as I approached. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,”
he chided, flashing me a mischievous grin.
Sitting back into the matching couch opposite him, I crossed an ankle over my knee and threw my arms wide. “I was merely restoring my energy for the evening ahead. Besides, everyone waits for us.”
Xannirin grabbed the bottle and poured two glasses, offering one to me. I accepted, clinking it against his, then sipped. It burned in the best way on its way down my throat and into my stomach.
“That they do,”
my cousin finally responded, snapping his fingers. One of the servants clinging to the periphery disappeared through the door, returning moments later with a horde. Carts laden with platters of food and drink preceded a dozen females, sheer fabric whispering around their legs and over their torsos. Each wore a translucent veil and kept their eyes downcast.
“Over there,”
we said in unison, and Xannirin grinned, burgundy eyes flashing to me before returning to the females sashaying toward an arrangement of rugs in an open space behind me. Craning my neck, I watched each of them kneel in turn, hands resting in their laps and heads dipping toward the ground.
As the Kral, Xannirin had access to the premier fallen. These were no ordinary females—they’d chosen this life and were paid staggering amounts of coin for it. With the number present, Xannirin had clearly spared no expense for my return.
Servants arranged the feast around us. Savory spices assaulted my nostrils and pulled a growl from my stomach. My mouth watered too as I caught sight of my favorite dish—a spicy, near boiling pot of soup where I could cook a variety of foods with a simple dip into it. Delicacies like these were not available in a war camp, and Xannirin knew exactly what he was doing, enticing me to remain in Uzhhorod rather than return to the budding tent city situated outside the gates.
The servants swept away with a volley of bows and words of veneration, and Xannirin basked in it. I wanted them to fuck off so I could eat. While my cousin was vain and enjoyed the sycophants, I did not. My accomplishments spoke for themselves; I didn’t need anyone else to validate my success.
Lifting slices of raw beef with a pair of tongs, I dipped them in the hot broth, watching the meat turn from red, bloody carvings into dark, broody slabs. Across from me, Xannirin piled a plate with roasted vegetables and seared meats tossed with a sticky sweet sauce that he favored.
“How is our dear cousin?”
I asked Xannirin.
Through a mouthful of food, he said, “High Priestess Kiira sends her love, though Varbad Temple steals all her attention these days. I’ve hardly seen her myself since the last time you were here.”
I stabbed my food with force and shoved it into my mouth. Kiira grew up in Uzhhorod with Xannirin and me, bastard daughter of our fathers’ third brother. Like the rest of our kin, she boasted eyes of a deep burgundy and held powers over the spirits and dead. Together, we were a natural fit to conquer all of Keleti, and Kiira had both accepted and accentuated Xannirin’s plans since he claimed the throne from his father.
Kiira was the only Demon in written history to have the gift of Sight, though it differed from the Sight of the Angels. Where they foretold prophecies that may or may not come to pass, the few instances where Kirra was overcome always came to pass. The Giver blessed her with a direct connection to their weavings, using her as a channel for their desires.
“Has she seen anything lately?”
I asked, jostling the vegetables so they cooked more evenly.
“She hasn’t had a vision in some time,”
Xannirin paused, his attention flickering to the premier fallen. “Actually, come with me.”
Brows furrowing, I followed him into his sleeping chamber. He yanked a few drawers open before finding whatever it was he searched for. He proffered it to me, his mouth curved into a frown. Hesitantly, I accepted, wondering what had him so concerned.
The crumpled paper crinkled as I opened it. A drawing of a pair of eyes stared back at me, so striking and unnerving that they pierced the depths of my black soul. “What is this?”
I asked, turning it this way and that as if a different direction would have answers for why swipes of charcoal on a page unsettled me so. They felt alive as if they had leaped off the face of a beautiful female and etched themselves here instead.
“Kiira keeps sending these, with nothing else,”
Xannirin sighed, scratching his ringed fingers through his beard. The garnet signet ring of House Vrak glinted with the motion.
The Giver had blessed Kiira greatly, yet despite her many talents—namely, weaving believable tales surrounding the mythology of the three Fates—art was not one of them.
“As a joke?”
I clarified, studying the long, detailed lashes and almond shape. The art was skillful, and I hadn’t been gone long enough for Kiira to master a new hobby.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in weeks. Well, over a month now,”
Xannirin muttered, a hint of anxiety lacing his tone. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“And they are all like this?”
I pressed. That she had been so absent and sending these notes to Xannirin was troubling.
Is our alliance crumbling? Is this a coded message? Has something happened to her?
The thoughts raced through my head one after another as my strategic mind went into overdrive. I hadn’t had nearly enough scale to calm it down.
“Nearly identical. Most are black and white, but a handful of irises have been colored burgundy. They come sealed with her wax, too, so I know it isn’t a trick of one of her acolytes.”
That answered one of my questions.
Xannirin blew out a long breath. “She won’t return any messages of mine either. I have half a mind to march to Varbad to seek her out.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Why haven’t you yet? How long has this been going on?”
“I’ve been dealing with the nobles,”
he grumbled.
“Again, I can take care of that,”
I growled. I should have smacked the shit out of that male who had dared disturb me earlier if only to slake an ounce of this irritation.
“If she doesn’t turn up in the next few days, we’ll ride to Varbad together and confront her,”
Xannirin promised. “As for the nobles, I will handle them. I am their Kral, and they will continue to do as I say, or their titles will be stripped. I have no problem reminding them of who is truly in charge of this realm.”
“Aye,”
I replied. While Xannirin liked to live in luxury, it had not made him soft. He was as ruthless as Kiira and me and he would do what needed to be done. I’d probably make things worse, given my temper.
He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s eat and enjoy ourselves. We’ll worry about interrogating Kiira later.”
Nodding, I tucked the drawing into my pocket. I’d study it later and see if I could uncover some hidden meaning. Something was off about the situation with Kiira, and I needed to figure out what the fuck had changed while I’d been away.
The three of us were an unbreakable unit, bound by our asshole fathers and the propaganda we’d concocted. With Kiira’s influence, it had spread like wildfire, and with the continued push from the priestess’s platforms, we’d managed to shape society to serve our needs.
I hoped the warriors conscripted from the far-flung parts of the Demon Realm would be brainwashed enough that they wouldn’t put up a fight as they were forced to join the army.
As I settled into my seat again, I shook off the lingering worries and focused on my meal. The vegetables were finished boiling, and carefully, I tipped them onto my plate, steam rising straight to my nostrils as I inhaled their spicy scent.
Xannirin lifted a thin, dark sauce from the table, he proffered it to me. “Want some?”
I shook my head and sipped from my half-empty glass of scale. “I’ll take more of this though.”
He passed me the bottle, and I poured myself a double measure. I didn’t often allow myself the luxury of relaxing and drinking like this, but I needed to drown my thoughts out. It was my first day back, and after what I’d learned, I itched to return to the front to slaughter all those fuckers who dared think they could overrun our realm.
Xannirin strolled past me toward the kneeling premier. He selected his first plaything of the night, and without a single sound, she followed him to the maroon leather lounger and kneeled at his feet. She was pretty enough, with smooth, creamy skin that looked like whipped caramel and hair to match, secured in a long tail at the nape of her neck. But she kept her head firmly down, waiting for Xannirin to tell her exactly what to do.
She was not my type.
“You always did like unquestioning control,”
I snorted, looking pointedly at her.
Xannirin merely chuckled and fed the premier a bunch of grapes. One fell away and bounced into her cleavage. She remained motionless as my cousin bent to snatch it with his teeth.
Draining the scale to the dregs, I slid the glass onto the smooth gray wood beside me and turned, surveying my options for the evening. One on the end had a curtain of hair falling over her shoulders, nearly obscuring her face from view. But the tiny waist highlighted by a bronze chain caught my eye. It connected to two sunbursts adorning her nipples, pressing against the sheer emerald fabric covering her breasts.
In one smooth motion, I cleared the lounger and strode toward the group. A few shrunk away as I approached, and I noted their positions, planning on using them next. I couldn’t blame them for their fear. I was, after all, the Halálhívó.
“You,”
I growled at the emerald-clad female as I stood in front of her. The color suited her dark skin, giving her an even more exotic air. She rose, clasping her hands in front of her stomach and lifting her gaze to meet mine. Scarlet eyes stared directly into my own, cut by the barest hint of green. A hint of defiance danced in them, and she held her shoulders back and chin high, as if she thought we were somehow equal.
Exactly what I like.
I enjoyed exerting dominance, but only after I’d thoroughly earned it.
“Xannirin, where did you find this one?”
I asked as I pulled her forward, far enough away from the others that I could circle her. Her figure was exquisite, with wide hips made for grabbing and breasts that would fill my large hands. Sweeping her hair back, I tilted her chin up and removed her veil, giving her face a similar once-over.
Excellent.
“It was Kiira, actually. She wanted to be a priestess. Our dear cousin thought she might be more useful in other regards after a particular admission,”
Xannirin replied.
I raised a brow and faced my cousin. “And what was that?”
The smile that spread across Xannirin’s face was pure malice. “She likes to run.”
My blood boiled, and I returned my attention to the female. Cocking my head to the side, I said, “Is that true?”
She nodded, a small, mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “I am happy to serve you, Halálhívó. I do hope our game is to your liking.”
My blood heated immediately. “Xannirin, you’re spoiling me.”
A low chuckle rumbled behind me. “The balcony door is unlocked and the garden has been cleared for your entertainment.”
“You are tempting me to stay longer than necessary,”
I growled, cock stirring in my pants as I swept my attention over the female again.
“Enjoy the luxuries while you can, Rokath,”
Xannirin teased. A moment later, his moan tore the air.
Ignoring my cousin, I crowded the space of the female in front of me, dropping my mouth to her ear. “I’ll give you two minutes.”
Stepping back, I swept my hand toward the double doors set into the far wall. “Run.”
Chasing a female reminded me of battle, making me feel alive in a way that politics never did. This pursuit would be the perfect distraction from my thoughts.
Faster than I expected, she took off, slamming the door open and disappearing into the chilly night air beyond. The force of it all blasted the two fire pits closest to the door, sending the flames dancing as I stalked through them. On the stone balcony, an array of plants waited, providing the perfect hiding spots for someone who didn’t want to be found. Walls existed there too, providing spots of privacy when Xannirin wanted to be alone. During the day, it was serene. At night, however, it was maze-like with the branches groaning as they swayed in the wind.
Stepping onto it, another gust brushed across my bare scalp and through my short-sleeved tunic and dark pants. Closing my eyes, I listened for feet slapping against stone or panted breaths. The moonlight caressed my face, and when I reopened my eyes, my vision had adjusted enough that the nuances of the balcony were visible to me.
I crept forward. A distant, sharp inhale sounded off to my right. Likely, the premier had come across some of the thorny bushes at the rear. I made my way to the spot like a wolf stalking its prey—slowly, methodically, and with as little noise as possible.
A tinkle of metal reached my ears; I was close. From between two plants, I spotted a flash of long, dark hair. I licked my lips as I watched her swerve behind one of those high walls.
Little did she know it was a dead end.
Edging along the wall, I made my way to the opposite side, bracing a hip against the balustrade and crossing my arms. She whirled around, attempting to find another exit.
“I’ll give you one more opportunity to run. The chase is my favorite part.”
With a small shriek, she startled, then whirled and raced away. I ticked off ten seconds in my head, then followed. She slipped and dodged the plants down a long, narrow row. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I did the same. A wicked thrill raced down my spine and straight to my groin. The sheer fabric blew behind her, along with her hair, ghosting against my flesh.
She took a sharp turn, and I skidded past her, then recovered and followed her down a slightly wider path. Pumping my arms, I caught up to her. In one smooth motion, I snatched her waist and hoisted her into the air. A gasp escaped her lips from the sudden movement, but then I threw her over my shoulder and gave her plump rear a smack.
She moaned, and I did it again.
An outdoor lounger wasn’t far away, and I carried her toward it before laying her out like my own personal feast. As obedient as my hounds, she spread her legs immediately, and the moonlight caught on the wetness dripping there.
A growl rumbled through me at the sight of her cunt glistening.
“Remove your clothes,”
I instructed, and she sat upright, pulling on the ties that fastened the sheer fabric around her. It fell away, leaving only the bronze chains behind. I dragged her closer. Another gasp fled her lips as I rolled my fingers over her nipples, loving the way her eyes fluttered. I wanted to see them do that when her lips were around my cock.
“Kneel.”
She did, hands finding the buttons of my pants and popping them. I shoved them down, and the premier dug her nails into my powerful thighs before tracing a path to my erection. She glanced at it, then me, as her lips parted ever so slightly. Then, she flicked her tongue over the head, teasing me.
But that wasn’t what I wanted. Threading my fingers into her loose hair, I pulled her forward, her mouth pressing against the tip. “Open,”
I commanded, and she did, sticking her tongue out nice and long. I smacked my cock on it before rubbing the head there. Then, I pushed all the way to her throat. She moaned, the vibration traveling up my shaft, and my balls tightened at the sensation.
I moved, slowly at first, savoring the feeling of her wet, hot mouth around me. Hands braced on my thighs, she continued to take all of me, so obedient that some of my excitement dulled. The fight was the part I savored the most, and for her to acquiesce so quickly irritated me.
Her nails bit into my thighs as my pace quickened, and I growled, grasping the back of her head with more force and shoving myself deeper. “That’s it,”
I praised, and she gripped them harder. Tears streamed from those scarlet eyes as she gazed up at me, lashes fluttering like I’d hoped as I went all the way to the hilt. She gagged, gripping me hard enough to bruise, and I groaned, long and low at the fucking ecstacy of the sensations.
Much better.
I released her when she started choking for air. Chest heaving, she wiped at her eyes and nose, and I stepped back, stripping off my pants and shirt. “Turn over,”
I instructed her, ready to feel her pussy clenching around me.
“Yes, sir,”
she panted, and as she bared her core to me, I saw how damp her thighs were.
Settling behind her, I lined my shaft with her entrance. When I pushed in, I nearly cursed at how tight she was. Digging my fingers into the meat of her hips, I fucked her, skin slapping from the force of my thrusts. Whimpers burst from her, over and over, as her cunt tightened around me. It had been far too long since I’d been with a female, and my release closed in quicker than I would have liked.
Wrapping her hair around my fist, I pulled her head up, forcing her lower back to arch. “Fates!”
she cried out as I hit a sensitive spot deep inside her. Then, she cursed, body jerking.
I pinned her in place, chasing my own release as hers exploded through her. The way her walls milked me brought me close enough to the edge that I had to release her completely and shove her away to avoid coming inside her. She caught herself on her hands, and I painted her back with thick, sticky ropes. Chests heaving, we remained in that position, recovering from the quick fuck.
“Dress yourself and return inside.”
She nodded, picking up the sheet fabric and wrapping it around herself. I merely grabbed my clothes and strode naked through the doors. It didn’t matter; Xannirin was already balls-deep in one female while licking the cunt of another. The two kissed and fondled one another on top of him, while two more performed at his feet.
The scarlet-eyed premier knelt beside the chaise where I’d eaten, waiting for further instruction. Unfortunately, she didn’t put up as much of a fight as I’d hoped. Despite these females being paid handsomely to service us any way we pleased, I preferred when some tension stretched between us, making me feel like I had to force her to submit, rather than her submitting because that was what was expected.
The push and pull of life was what made it interesting, and I craved the tension even more than the alcohol to settle my mind.
Ignoring her for now, I returned to the line of premiers, selecting two more and directing them to a rug nearby. Then, I called on one of the servants to fetch some males to join us. The power of directing their coupling, their positions, their motions, was as thrilling fucking them myself, and I continued to orchestrate the show throughout our night, nearly draining the entire bottle of scale before the sun rose over the Skala Mountains and spilled golden rays into the living area.
Only then did we decide to retire. But when I climbed into bed in a drunken haze and attempted to sleep, all I saw were those piercing burgundy eyes.
***
Coughing filled the musty, dank air of the small home, sending the female sleeping on a cot flying toward the female struggling to sit upright in her bed. “Assyria,”
the younger female wheezed, waving her hand in an attempt to shoo her away. “You,”
cough, “will,”
cough, “get sick,” she finally managed to get out.
She paused, holding a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I can’t lose you too, sister.”
Her burgundy eyes watered, and she sniffed with enough force that she could have been sick herself.
“Put them there,”
the sister indicated the small wooden table braced against the edge of the bed, separating them further.
A tear carved a path down each of their cheeks as Assyria did as she was bid. The sister reached for the glass of water, sipping it before nearly spitting it out as another splutter ripped from her chest. The damp cloth went to cover her mouth, and by the time the fit subsided, blood stained it.
Mirror horrified expressions crossed the two females’ faces. “No,”
Assyria breathed, hand flying to cover her chest. “No, no, no.”
Her knees banged against the floor as more tears leaked from her eyes. “Estra, you can’t leave me all alone with him.”
“Sister, you need to trust in the Weaver’s plan for you,”
the younger one breathed, a conviction in her tone Assyria had never heard before. “She wouldn’t have woven that path for you if she wanted you to leave him.”
“Why do you say that now?”
Assyria’s voice was small and broken. “After you tried to help me run before?”
Estra shook her head. The plague’s symptoms were clear, and she would die soon, if not that day. Her mother and her father had already succumbed to the sickness, their bodies burned not even a week prior. The day before the Reaper reclaimed them, the first signs of the plague had appeared. Estra knew there was no saving herself. She wanted Assyria alive, even if she could not be. The Weaver had spared her, and her trust in the Fates was absolute, though her sister’s rebellious spirit had made it difficult for her to surrender to their will. Estra had spent all her life attending temple daily, and she would not lose faith in them, not when she was hours from her soul being theirs to control once again. She believed her devotion to them would send her onto a better world.
But Estra had no breath to say all of that to Assyria as another fit overtook her. Her eyes watered, and she closed them as she coughed, trying to rein in everything leaving her body. Assyria watched on, fingers curling and uncurling in the modest black dress she wore. She didn’t bother tying a cloth around her head to prevent infection. When the sister opened her eyes again, the tear marks on her cheeks were the same color as the spittle coating the cloth.
“Estra,”
Assyria choked out, recognizing the last sign of the plague. The bleeding would only worsen from there, next streaming from her nose and ears, until finally, she drowned in her own blood. Assyria had helped her sister nurse both their father and mother through their illnesses, and it was an absolutely horrific way to die. The plague had claimed the lives of thousands in the region already, and the scent of burning flesh was as constant as the metallic tang coating the tongues of everyone still living.
“Pray with me, Assyria,”
Estra managed to wheeze out. She closed her eyes and rested her back against the stack of pillows behind her, ignoring the dripping garnet from her ears and nose.
Assyria’s chin dropped to her chest, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Please, Weaver, Reaper, don’t let my sister die. I cannot continue to live this life without her, without someone to love me. My husband is cruel, and my family was not. Why do you take them from me and spare him? What sense does that make? The priestess caned me every time I questioned what you wove, but I will never understand why you allow such evil to flourish when you could have created lives filled with peace for everyone. All of this is your fault, Assyria thought, her knuckles white as rage darkened her heart. She swore at each of the Fates over and over and over, that fury building with each successive fit that wracked her sister’s chest.
Estra’s prayers were different. Weaver, I trust that whatever plan you have for my sister is the right one. Guide her along it and help her see your infinite wisdom. Reaper, please make my passing swift and peaceful so that my sister does not have to witness more suffering.
The Fates watched the scene unfold, just as they watched all the threads of their tapestry weave and fray. A gurgle bubbled in the sickened sister’s throat, and Assyria shot to her feet, knocking the table aside and climbing onto the bed. She grasped her sister’s outstretched hand like it was a lifeline and by holding it she could prevent the inevitable.
“Assyria,”
the sister wheezed, “trust in the Fates. Let your faith guide you.”
“You are not dying!”
Assyria shouted, a tremble beginning in her shoulders and wracking her entire body. A sob escaped next, and Assyria pulled a cloth from her pocket and used it to wipe blood from her sister’s face instead of the wetness from her own.
“I…love…you…”
her sister said, each word more difficult than the last to produce.
“Estra!”
Assyria wailed, watching as the young female’s eyes fluttered closed. A choked sound stuck in her chest as she drowned in her own blood. Her body jerked as she fought for breath, and Assyria scrambled to flip the frail body, giving her space to breathe out the liquid in her lungs.
But it was too late.
Assyria screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks, at the heavens, cursing the three Fates, cursing the Goddess, cursing the other worlds for taking everything from her. “At least let me join them!”
As if the Fates had heard her, two males burst through the front door to her family’s home, and beyond, a third waited with a wagon already overflowing with bodies.
“No!”
Assyria shrieked, throwing herself over her sister’s lifeless form.
“Take her to her husband,”
the first male ordered the second. They separated the two females, though Assyria reached for her sister the entire time the male hauled her in the opposite direction, toward the estate that was like a prison. Estra’s body was tossed into the cart, and two of the males trundled along, stopping at the next farm to collect two more bodies.
Assyria went limp in the male’s arms, forcing him to carry her as she drowned in an ocean of grief.