Spicily Ever After (Cruelly Arranged)

Chapter 1

I Baby

Arvi

“I want to stop taking the medicine.”

I freeze when Caliane makes her announcement.

She sits with her hands folded demurely in her lap, the picture of propriety, even though only this morning she was a disheveled mess writhing between us all.

If not for her unexpected words, I’d crack a smile.

The contrast between private Caliane and the public one is always so much fun.

She’s fun.

“Are you sure?” Magnar asks, frowning. “Sameel has only just started to walk. Gods know I fucking adore you pregnant, but you need to recover properly.”

Sameel is our second kid. The first one is Nisha, Magnar’s daughter. Sameel is Raduna’s; we can tell by his red hair. Though of course, every kid Caliane gives birth to belongs to us all.

“We need to have at least five children,” she says, straightening her spine with authority.

“I thought about it, and it makes the most sense: we should divide our lands the same way the Emperor did back in the day, establishing the Eleven. Right now, we rule over Roharra and four kingdoms. We need five heirs to take over.”

I take out my knife and twirl it between my fingers in silence. Raduna hums thoughtfully, and I realize with a thrill: his son will be a king one day. Raduna was born a farmer in a long line of farmers. I bet none of his ancestors ever dreamed of becoming kings.

“I’ve been thinking about this, too,” Magnar admits. “It makes sense. But we don’t have to rush, love.”

She purses her lips, leaning forward. “We do. Idrina is doing worse. I want her to go in peace, knowing we have a solid plan for the kingdoms.”

“My mother has been promising to die for years,” Magnar scoffs. “Don’t fall for this again. She’s tough as nails.”

“No, Caliane is right,” Khay says with a frown. “I noticed when I carried your mother to her chair last time. She’s lost some weight. And she doesn’t berate us even half as much as before. I think she feels weak.”

Magnar’s face clouds with worry. Despite his careless words, he loves his mother and wants her to be with us as long as possible.

I think with a pang about my mom, whom I haven’t seen in years.

I wrote to her once after I became Magnar’s knight and my father couldn’t touch me anymore.

I offered to take her away from him, too.

She refused, saying she was happy, and I believe her. My father was only cruel to me.

“I talked to Anke,” Caliane says, taking Magnar’s hand. “She said as long as I do my exercises to keep my womb strong, there is no reason to delay.”

Oh, the exercises. I smile, thinking about how much stronger Caliane’s pussy became thanks to them.

She squeezes me so tight inside, positively milking me with her muscles.

Of course, she does the exercises to counteract the effort of carrying and birthing half-Agnidari children, but I adore the sexy side effects.

“If that’s what you want, that’s your choice.” Magnar gives in, like always. He’ll hover over her like an overprotective mother hen, but he also knows quarrelling with our queen is pointless when she’s made up her mind. “So, who wants to be the father? Or do we do a lottery like last time?”

After Nisha was born, Caliane went on the medicine, and we were all able to fuck her anywhere since then.

When Magnar’s girl turned two, Caliane decided it was time.

She stopped taking the brew and we all fucked her freely, making bets whose seed would take.

Though, I took her ass way more often than pussy at the time.

Now, shivers go down my spine, my chest filling with longing and dread.

Please, let it be me. Or better not.

“I don’t know about a lottery,” Raduna rumbles. “I think it’s time to think strategically. Khay, Arvi? Do you want to have children of your blood?”

Khay clicks his tongue, swallowing a bite of an apple.

He always carries a few in his pockets since it’s early autumn—the apple picking season.

“I already have four kids. I consider my nieces, as well as Nisha and Sameel all mine. I don’t really care about blood heirs, to be honest. At least until my nieces are grown up. Arvi?”

Everyone looks at me. The knife twirls faster and faster as I try to compose a good answer, but there’s chaos in my head. I want to, but…

What if the kid is like me? What if they aren’t?

What if they fall sick and die? What if Caliane gets hurt?

She still can’t take me all the way in, and if I get excited breeding her, and I know I will, I might lose control.

And what if it doesn’t work? My line is weak.

My mother only got pregnant once, years after she married my father.

What if I can’t knock up my queen? I’d feel so humiliated.

Soft, small hands frame my face, and I jerk, stopping the spinning knife. Caliane stands in front of me, and I don’t have to lift my head to look into her eyes. She’s so close, and her smile is so warm and loving.

“Would you like to have a baby with me, Arvi?”

My breath stutters in my throat. When she puts it like that…

“Yes,” I reply, the longing overpowering everything else. “But…”

“No buts.” She presses in, giving me a soft kiss. “We’ll make it work as long as you want to. I do.”

Magnar claps once, happy about the outcome. “So it’s decided. Arvi fucks pussy from now on, and we—ass. Everyone happy with this? Perfect. I’m going to check on my mother.”

He leaves. Khay and Raduna follow, the first talking about the archery lesson he planned for his nieces, the other—about some special flower that only blooms once every five years.

When the door closes, I’m left alone with Caliane.

Our bedroom is flooded with the muted sunlight filtered through heavy, silvery clouds.

“What was the ‘but’ about?” Caliane asks, gathering her skirts around her thighs. She straddles my lap, regarding me with curiosity.

I try to look away, but it’s hard. My queen knows how to corner me. She knows all too well.

“Many things,” I say, putting the knife away. Caliane offers another distraction, her soft, warm thighs bared to my touch. “The most obvious one is that it still hurts you sometimes. I’m too big.”

She waves her hand as if her pain is of no consequence. Anger ties my guts into knots. She still does this, and I hate it. Caliane says suffering is a part of life, and all good things should be tinged with a bit of pain. The good always comes with a pinch of the bad. And the other way round.

I suspect she doesn’t believe she deserves to be completely happy, though.

Because I don’t, and we’re both so similar.

“Don’t wave it away like that. I hate to see you hurt.”

She grabs my cheeks and tilts my head down so I have no choice but to look into her green eyes that sparkle with mischief.

“Arvi, but it hurts so good,” she says with a breathy moan. “I like that ache. You should know by now just how much I like it.”

I swallow, knowing my cheeks have purpled with a flush. I can’t help it even after five years. She’s hot. I don’t ever stop wanting her.

“Even if you do, I might lose control, sweet,” I say, caressing her cheek with my thumb. “I’ll want to bottom out to breed you better. Make you take my knob. What if I can’t hold myself in check? The very thought of giving you a child…”

I look away, letting my hand slide back onto her thigh. It’s agony. Exquisite, terrifying agony.

“If that’s your only concern, you may rest easy,” she says, leaping off my lap. “Let me show you my new toy.”

I watch as she reaches into her chest of drawers, taking out something that looks like a sculpture made of amethyst. Caliane turns, holding it up in both hands, and I snort. It’s a polished, gleaming, pink dick—in my size, no less. Maybe not as girthy, but the length seems to match.

Caliane puts it away with a small huff, and I realize it must be heavy.

“What’s that, sweet?”

“I’ve been practicing in secret,” she says with a proud smile. “Anke gave me more exercises. It turns out human flesh is malleable when one is determined enough. I am. I know how much you want to fit all the way in. Consider this my gift to you.”

Blood rushes right to my groin, and I shake my head, fighting to keep my thoughts alert. Her very words—fit all the way in—pound through me with every eager beat of my pulse. I can’t shake off the image of Caliane practicing. Oh, the wench. The lovely, horny, sweet, wonderful little cumslut.

“Are you telling me you fucked yourself with that thing?” I ask, getting up to distract myself from the boner tenting my pants. “You were here all alone, stretched open, and stuffed yourself—with that?”

Her eyes glitter as she strokes the amethyst toy with one finger, her eyes brazenly trained on me.

“Yes. It took a few months. I was able to put it all in for the first time yesterday.”

I can’t hold back a groan. She doesn’t flinch away when I eat up the room with long steps, stopping only when I’m too close, my hand hovering over the sculpture. I pick it up, and yes, it’s heavy. Almost as long as my shaft. Maybe save an inch.

“Are you trying to kill me, laruna?” I ask, my head full of lewd images, blood roaring in my ears. It’s no use. I can’t control it.

“Oh, pish. You’ll be fine. You get hard without fainting now, don’t you, darling? Say, do you want to practice? I’m still on the brew, so no babies yet, but you can test me and see how well I’ve prepared for you.”

I try to focus, but it’s difficult. The thought of being able to plunge into her softness, of feeding her my knob, overpowers all else.

“Don’t you have a council meeting soon?” I ask, clenching my fists desperately.

“Yes, in about half an hour. Better be quick.”

She reaches back, quickly undoing the ribbons tying up her dress, and lets it pool around her bare feet. She’s gloriously naked underneath, not even wearing underwear. A suspicion pierces through my haze of arousal.

“You planned this.” I shake my head, feeling tricked and yet grateful.

“Of course. My days are busy, Arvi. If I want to corner one of you for myself, I have to be crafty about it. Go on. Show me your meat rod and let’s compare it to this one.”

“No. Wait.”

I cover my eyes with my forearm, thinking about dead larunas floating belly up in the pond, their brilliant, ruby scales growing matte after death. My erection deflates somewhat, and I can think, though barely.

“Did you also plan for me to be the father of your next baby?” I ask, the question coming out with an edge.

She sighs, taking my free hand. She kisses my knuckles. “I did.”

I look at her, expecting pity, but my queen stands tall, her eyes kind, mouth flat with determination. I’m grateful. It would be so humiliating to be pitied.

“Why?”

“Because I saw the way you looked at Nisha and then Sameel. And then—every time Raduna cradled Sameel in his arms, you had that look. Not exactly jealous. Coveting.”

I wince. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to me. I haven’t spoken about this to anyone. It’s yours to tell, whatever it is.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” I shrug, because there really isn’t.

Her eyes narrow. “I thought we promised to always be honest with each other.”

She straightens as tall as she can and jabs my chest with her finger. It’s useless, though—I tower above her like always, and we both know it. She doesn’t give up.

“Or should I put you over my knee?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.

That’s my line. I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. “I do not sound like that! So—so haughty. Come on, laruna. You don’t have what it takes to threaten me like that.”

She glowers, her angry frown casting her eyes in shadow. “I do have what it takes. I’ll spank you and then introduce you to my practice toy. You like a finger in there—why not more?”

I inhale sharply. Oh, naughty Caliane. I sometimes forget how far she’s come: the once innocent, blushing virgin grew into a formidable queen who keeps her four men leashed around her pinkie.

I toy with the idea of allowing it to happen. I’d enjoy the punishment, not only because it would be so cute to see her struggle, but also because it sounds sexy as hell. I’ve spanked Caliane a few times in the past when she needed relief. It’s only fair to let her return the favor.

But right now it’s more important to keep my word and be honest, so I do my best to explain.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” I say, dropping down to my knees so we’re face to face. “I don’t have a bad story about it, like the one about my poor fish or my father dragging me behind his horse by my hair.”

I stroke my bald head as I say it. It’s a reflex—I have to remind myself there is no hair for me to be dragged by ever again. Maybe one day I’ll let it grow out, but right now, the smooth skin of my scalp is a much needed comfort.

“There is something,” Caliane says stubbornly.

“Lots of small things,” I admit. “Look. You know how I get overwhelmed sometimes, having to do my breathing exercises to calm down. If I have a child and they inherit that weakness, I’d hate myself. Or another thing: if I have a son, and he takes after me. Being this big is not a blessing.”

I gesture at my crotch and Caliane sighs.

“Oh, Arvi. You’re perfect. I love you, and if I have a son who is just like you, I’ll love him as well. And you will, too. You will learn to love yourself more by loving him. Or her. Just like I did with Nisha and then Sameel.”

“But what if my child’s unhappy?” I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse. “What if… What if they hate to have a dad like me? What if I become—like my father?”

My guts grow cold, and I realize this is the true reason behind my reluctance. I desperately want to be a dad. And yet, I can’t risk becoming a monster like my father.

Caliane’s eyes brim with warmth and understanding, and still no pity. I expect her to reassure me, making meaningless promises that I’m good and kind and all sorts of bullshit, but she surprises me with something else.

“You won’t. Do you know why? Because we won’t let you. Arvi, think about it—if your father had Magnar, Khay, and Raduna by his side, would he have done the things he did? Just imagine it for a second.”

I can only gape, her words penetrating somewhere deep into a place I never expected to reach. The answer is obvious, and it fizzes in my chest like the headiest relief. She frames my cheeks with her palms and gives me a soft, sweet kiss.

“See? You can be a dad. It will be all right.”