Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kong
I softly shut her door, and reach for her Room Guard, fisting his vest. I drag him closer, his eyes gaping. “Keep your ears open! As soon as the Queen’s Army arrives to dress her, you get word to me. I do not want them alone. Do you understand?”
“How did you…” He looks at me, then at the door he’s been stationed in front of all night. “How did you get in there?”
“You fell asleep,” I lie.
His eyes widen. “I… I…” He grips his forehead. “Oh, fuck.”
I release his vest with a shove. “Don’t do it again,” I call out, heading down the corridor.
My cock aches with need, making it hard to think straight, act calm, be in control. I need to fuck my fist, but first, I need to speak with Lord Bled.
The purple walls dissolve to a green colour as I enter the Warden of The Lower-tower’s personal wing.
As I pass Guards and personnel, my intent and mood are not subtle, my heavy boots echoing to the relentless pounding of my heart.
Each step I take reverberates with Purpose and fury, and restlessness, the urgency I feel rippling through me. I need to get back to her. I never want to be away.
As I approach Bled's suite. Without hesitation, I shove the two Guards aside, and burst through the door, catching Bled as he climbs out of a bed large enough for several bodies, leaving three of his dears cuddling under the covers.
I shut the door and lock it. The Guards bash on it. I storm toward Bled.
“Kong.” He opens his arms, unaffected by his own nakedness or my chaotic entrance.
Upon him, I throw my fist into his nose. A satisfying groan fills the room, and his dears gasp, pulling the sheets up higher.
"Should we get someone?" one of them asks, her voice breathy.
"No. It's okay," Bled replies, pinching the bridge of his nose, his mouth filling with blood. His voice is remarkably steady despite the red stream trickling from his nose. He wipes it away with a calmness that only fuels my anger.
I waste no time, my question a sharp accusation.
"What are your intentions, boy? Giving her a secret exit?
Costumes and secret conversations," I demand, my voice booming with an authority that fills the space. He is younger than Rome by a few years, younger than me by more than a decade, so I stress the word boy. Though I have no authority in his tower, I have all the authority to protect her. It’s as vital to me as my next breath.
"You are rather strung out," Bled murmurs, his tone maddeningly casual, as if this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He strolls to the door that thunders with the Guard’s fists and opens it. “It’s fine. No need to break down the door.”
"I am not strung out,” I state.
He nods at the Guards and closes the door. "Yes, you are. I know you’re strung out because you didn't take your bonbon," he says, his calm demeanour unshaken.
"You put her in danger.”
After grabbing a robe, he throws it on, loosely tying the ends at his waist. He wanders to the mirror, leaning over a vanity to inspect my fist-work. "She's not in any danger. Not everyone is out to get you.”
"No! They are out to get her!" I thunder, my patience fraying with each passing second.
Bled turns to his dears. "Excuse us, my little dears, please give us some privacy.”
They sweep from his bed completely naked, wrap gowns around each other, and saunter off, as unaffected as he is.
“Drink?" Bled asks, leaning down and retrieving two glasses and a bottle of liquor.
"I don't drink when at my Purpose.”
"You should," he suggests with a nonchalant shrug, not missing a beat.
"What do you want from her?"
He pours his drink and turns to face me, leaning backward on the counter, blood drying on his nose. “I have five more days to show her how wonderful the Lower-tower is," he states, his intentions laid bare.
I scowl at him. "Why?"
"So, she stays," he replies, the simplicity of his words belying the weight they carry.
What? "To what end?"
"I've mentioned it to Rome before, but he's stubborn. I believe she belongs here," Bled explains, sipping his liquor.
My muscles fill with possessiveness, arms bulking as I take a step toward him. "Have you lost your mind?"
"I can take care of her," Bled offers, his voice smooth and confident.
He’s lucky that he’s a lord or he’d have a shiner to match that gushing nose. "I take care of her!” I state, adamant—loud.
"I very much thought you would stay, too," he muses, his words catching me off guard, throwing me off balance. He doesn’t want to take her away from me?
The fuck? “I'm the king's Guardian.”
"Are you? Then why are you here?” He pauses, and I step backward, exhaling heavily.
I’m wrong. I am rarely wrong about male motivations, but right now, I am wrong.
He’s still an obstinate prick, but his intentions are not what I thought.
“Think about it,” he goes on. “It's a day's drive from the king. Not too far, but she’ll be free here.
She can make new memories. Memories with you," he proposes, his words planting seeds too dangerous to take root.
With me? He knows. “I don't know what you're implying, boy.”
"Nothing happens in the Hall without my knowledge.” He sips his liquor and smiles. “Absolutely nothing.”
"You know," I say aloud, shaking my head. Do I kill him? What do I do from here? Deny? No—if this ever comes back, if the king or Trade Master find out that I touched her, tasted her, I will say I forced myself on her. It’s as simple and final as that.
"I know…” he agrees. “Everyone knows you love her. Only Rome doesn't realise she loves you back," he reveals, his words cutting through my defences.
She doesn’t love me.
I keep the conversation about her, not me. “The king will never allow her to live away from him. Never," I challenge.
"See, it'll take some convincing, I agree, but I think he will. I think, if you and I and Tuscany—"
"You will call her my queen, boy, or you'll be picking teeth out of your arsehole," I warn, my voice a low, dangerous growl, my overprotective inner creature roaring to the surface.
"You really need a wank. I can offer someone to help you if you wish...”
I growl again, my jaw muscles punching outward, my brows so tight my forehead aches and pulses.
He looks at me dubiously. “No? Okay.” He sips his drink again. “If we all sit down for a meeting, with Aster present also, I think we can bring the king around," he suggests, unfazed by my threat, his composure infuriatingly intact.
"And Cairo?" I remind.
“Yes…” He nods. "He is very bound by his rules. We would need to give him something in return for his agreement," Bled explains, his plan unfurling like an intricate web.
"What?"
"A place to call his own. A tower for the Trade Master. To begin his legacy. Every lord in The Cradle manages their own tower.”
"He's not a lord.”
"No, he's a Master, but I think that bothers him.” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t you? He is to share The Estate with the king and the Warden? He is going to start a legacy of his own soon, I hear. What do you think that looks like?”
I hum. The Trade Master does not have a legacy or heirs. In the past, this position was not granted such permanence. Until Rome needed something he couldn’t live without, forcing him to accept Cairo’s demands. He wants a legacy. There was no mention of a tower, to my knowledge.
“I try not to think about him at all,” I say, clenching my teeth.
“Well, I have spent many months musing over this. Sure, the firstborn boy will stay with him at The Estate, train to be the next Trade Master. The second and third, what of them? Lords, hm? Wardens of a new tower. His tower." Bled envisions, painting a picture.
"And which tower would that be, boy?"
"Ruins S, of course," he replies, as if it's the most natural choice, the only choice.
"If we take Ruins S,” I state, far more knowledgeable about war and takeovers than he’ll ever be. “There will be casualties. It's full of Common. In the tens of thousands," I warn, hitting him with the stark reality of this idea.
"I don't want casualties.” He sets his empty glass down on the counter.
“I’m a lover, not a fighter. We'll help evacuate them before the firestorm hits," he assures me, obviously having thought this through.
He is the Lord of Procurements; he can get anything.
He potentially has more connections than the Trade Master himself—if he wants to start a controlled fire, he can.
"You'll synthesize one,” I say.
"Think about it. Think about what it would be like to live here with her. We are exceptional secret keepers. You could be together," he entices, his voice softening, the lure of his words almost palpable.
"Why?" I ask, needing to understand his motivation, the depths of his intentions.
"Because I love her,” he says, and I ball my hands into fists.
“She is like a sister to me, and I owe her, like Rome does, like you do, for not stepping in.
I saw the signs, but I was too absorbed with my own Trade, privilege, opulence.
So young and self-serving. I owe her," he confesses, his vulnerability raw and unexpected, severing the tension with its sincerity.
"If you betray us—" I begin, but he cuts me off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Yes, yes, teeth, anus. I heard. Now, you need a wank. You're volatile when you're horny," he concludes.
I don’t hate this young man, never have, but his demeanour makes me want to choke the life out of him even as I feel all the jealous pressure lift from my chest. Prick.
“You’ve been planning this,” I grind out, “but you didn’t think to inform me?”
“I was always going to tell you, Kong. I was waiting to see if you and the queen were, in fact, going to relax here.” He lifts his dark brow at me. “She has. You haven’t.”
As I leave his room, I frown, my mind chewing through that conversation.
Would Cairo want his own tower? Cairo wants to own the entire fucking Cradle.
Fuck. A rough growl leaves me, hating that he might get what he wants.
Would Rome sanction any of this? Would my little queen want this?
And the people in the Ruins— I know what this would mean for them.
If we synthesize a Redwind fire, burn the tower to debris, they'll be homeless.
Some may die, others at the mercy of the regime they rejected.
Fuck, but thoughts of her happiness and freedom overpower my concern for them.
Gives me hope for the first time in decades that she'll heal, grow, be strong.
Having a plan for her allows my hot-blooded mood to settle into a dull simmer. My inner creature once again caged.