Chapter 14
14
Kirill
T he thick air burns hotter in my lungs. The chaotic vibrations in the audience grow, intensifying every ounce of anticipation zipping through me.
Fiona pins her eyebrows together and a flush dances on her cheeks. Her breath pushes past her parted lips in short bursts. She pins her question-filled greens on me.
My perfect little bird.
My wife.
Jesus. She actually went through with it and married me.
Why did she seem happy when she realized it was me?
I'm reading into things again, I tell myself, but the way her face lit up when she said my name is something I'll never forget.
Ulrich holds his arms out as wide as possible. The chanting ends, and the men frantically pound their wooden torches on the ground.
More questions flare across my bride's expression.
Ulrich booms, "The consummation will now begin!"
An " ugh, ugh, ugh " sound from the women fills the arena, fighting the echo of the stomps. A room with tinted glass walls rises behind Ulrich. A crossbeam runs over a bed, and thick chains with cuffs hang from it. Thirteen men in medieval battle gear and helmets kneel around the mattress, their shiny swords uncovered and pointed toward the sky.
I scowl at Ulrich.
He arrogantly smirks.
Fucking asshole. Of course he wouldn't give me the courtesy of a more private room.
Why did I assume he would?
Panic mixes with intrigue, washing across Fiona's face. She gapes at the room, then around the arena, her pink cheeks reddening as she realizes what will happen. She turns her greens on me, and the flickering flames I saw when I kissed her swirl with nerves.
Ulrich announces, "I present to The Underworld, the Knights of the Round Table!"
The chanting grows louder.
Fiona loses her balance, and I tug her against me, steadying her. Her gaze darts between the room and me.
I hold her close and lift my fist high in the air.
The arena quiets.
Ulrich asks, "You have a request, Your Majesty?"
I stand taller and point to Sean and Zara. "They must leave."
Ulrich replies, "Omni always have privileges to stay."
"Her brother will not be here to witness this. "
Ulrich narrows his eyes. "It is not customary for Omni to step away from ceremonies, especially coronations."
I focus on Sean. "You must go."
He nods. "I agree."
Fiona digs her fingers into my thigh.
I look down, stating, "You will not want your brother here."
She glances at Sean, then the room.
I lean down and murmur into her ear, "You must trust me. If he stays, you will always hate that he did."
She swallows hard and nods. "Okay."
I point at the couple and order, "As king of The Underworld, I exercise my right to ostracize them. During the rest of the coronation, they will not be present. I will lift the order after closure and only after Her Majesty has accepted her royal robe."
Ulrich insists, "Zara stays."
I shake my head. "No. They are married. They both go."
"It is not customary—" Ulrich blusters, but I cut him off.
"Her father would not have wanted either of them here." I scowl at him.
Ulrich stays quiet.
I turn to the crowd, roaring, "By order of ostracization, Zara and Sean O'Malley may not participate in consummation or closure rituals. Any further discussion will result in a sacrifice by flames."
The crowd gasps.
Ulrich shuts his mouth, not happy, but drops his argument. One more word about this topic, and I'll hang him by his feet and light a fire under his face until he's nothing but a singed corpse .
I point to Zara and Sean. "You are banished to my royal quarters." I nod to security.
He steps in front of them and points toward the door. "Right this way."
They both toss Fiona another guilty look and then disappear through the crowd.
A bang sounds in the background, so loud that my wife jumps.
I secure my hold around her waist and inform her, "It's just the gong."
She releases an anxious breath.
I move her toward the room.
Ulrich roars, "You forgot to shed."
I stop, my heart pounding harder.
Fiona glances up at me.
Ulrich adds, "It's time The Underworld learns the truth about their king. And it will not be from behind the blur of the glass!"
My gut dives. I knew this moment was coming and should have known Ulrich wouldn't give me any more leeway, especially after I went over his head to ostracize Sean and Zara. I prepared for the glass to partially shield me. I assumed it would mentally allow me to cope with Fiona's disgust since the glass is mirrored inside the room.
Now, the truth of my identity will be revealed. Anyone I've fucked during ceremonies with my mask on will know it was me. My anonymity will be gone.
The gong sounds again, making me cringe.
There's no getting out of this.
Deal with it. Be a fucking man.
I take a deep breath, release Fiona, and move to the center of the stage. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it down. I slowly shed my tuxedo jacket, unbutton my shirt, and fight to continue to undress.
The moment I remove my shirt, the audience gasps, then a shrill hissing takes over. I toss it on the floor, tug at my belt, unfasten my pants, and shove my underwear and trousers down. The metal buckle clanks on the wood.
I grind my molars, familiar with the hissing. Ever since I was eighteen and my first and only girlfriend left me, every sexual act I've participated in has been during a ritual. My face is always covered by my mask, and my hand with my necklace tattoo shielded by a leather glove. Now, there's no protection and no more questions about my identity.
The war inside me rages. The longer I stand in front of the hissing crowd, staring at the thousands of flickering torches, the more I want to hide. But I can't.
The gong bangs three times, and my desire to hide turns into a wish for someone to shoot me. I do my best to keep my neutral expression intact and don't move.
The gong bangs four times.
I still don't move.
A final warning belts off five loud bangs, and there's no more choice. My desire to live outweighs my wish to die.
Cringing inside, I spin toward a gaping Fiona and reach for my cock, unable to avoid her eyes.
There's no hiding. She knows who she's married to now.
My breathing goes ragged. I don't break protocol, playing with myself, staring at my beautiful bride in her wedding dress, and unable to stop my erection from growing .
Her gaze darts over my body, following the ink of the tattooed saw-scaled viper with several heads. She undoubtedly saw the snake's face on my shoulder, then followed it down my torso and around my legs. Now that I'm turned to face her, she takes all of it in, pausing at the vicious heads on my thighs and shins before pinning her gaze on my thick, ten-inch cock. She swallows hard, her eyes widening with an expression I can't decipher.
The memory of being sliced over and over flashes before me, intensified by the hissing. I breathe through it, grinding my molars so hard I'm afraid they might crack.
She's disgusted, I tell myself.
The gong rings ten times, and some relief hits me. I release my cock.
Fiona tears her greens off me, taking deep breaths.
The women in the crowd moan while the men continue to hiss.
I close the gap between Fiona and me, and she looks up, but it only confuses me further.
I don't see any disgust. I've seen it on women's faces in rituals, but I always wore a mask. Instead of what I'm used to seeing, the flare in her eyes resembles the look she gave me when I held her throat in the snow.
I'm seeing things.
She slides her shaky hands up my chest, slowly tracing the knotted scars under the ink, then steps even closer. Curiosity, maybe pity, and the same flickering flame dance across her expression.
My ache for her intensifies. She traces the head over my chest until I can't take it anymore. I put my hand over hers, my heart furiously pounding against her hand.
She rises on her tiptoes, slides her hand behind my head, and grips my hair .
My cock hardens further.
She pushes my head lower, and her lips graze my ear. She seductively asserts, "I think we're supposed to be in the other room. Aren't we?" She retreats, pinning doe eyes on me.
A rush of adrenaline courses through me.
Why isn't she freaking out?
The gong bangs once, pulling me out of my trance. I carefully unfasten her dress, turn her back to me, then slide it off her arms.
It falls to the floor, pooling around her feet.
My mouth goes dry at the sight before me. The delicate lace of the lingerie showcases the curve of her ass to perfection. I drag my knuckles over her spine and push the middle one between her cheeks.
She inhales sharply. A tremble moves through her.
Unable to stop, I step in front of her, taking every part of her in, throbbing with a desire I don't remember ever feeling. I study her, memorizing the moles on her thigh, bicep, and topside of her cleavage.
The gong bangs twice. My eagerness takes over, eliminating my hesitation. I reach for her hand, help her over her dress, and lead her into the room.
The door shuts and locks behind us, the mechanics grinding like a high-end safe.
She takes a deep breath, glancing at our reflections, then at the knights.
I lean into her ear, reminding her, "Make sure you tap out."
She glances at me in confusion.
The stomping and humming resumes, vibrating around us, shaking the glass. The knights stretch out their swords, clashing the metal together.
Fiona steps closer to me.
I slide my hand across her thigh, grazing my fingertips over her slit, surprised by the heat and dampness I find.
Her chest rises and falls faster.
I murmur, "Little birds need to be chained so they don't fly away."
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
The swords slam into each other again, then rise straight into the air. A tiny grunt rolls out of the knights' throats, then several more grow in intensity.
The moonlight streams directly over us, supplying the only illumination since the flickering torches disappeared when the door locked.
Seven rings of the gong sound loudly. The knights part at the end of the bed.
I move my bride to the mattress, slide my hand over her cheek, and kiss her.
To my surprise, she kisses me back as enthusiastically as the first time.
Hissing erupts with stomping, yanking me back to my role.
I step back three feet and roar, "Shackle the queen."
The women in the crowd outside shriek.
Fiona's eyes widen.
Two knights grab her wrists, stretching them in the air.
To my surprise, she doesn't fight. I assumed she would, and I'd have to beg her to calm down. Then Ulrich would have gotten involved and asked her if she wanted to stop, only to kill her if she said yes .
Thankfully, I was wrong. She keeps her eyes locked on me, her breath rolling past her parted lips.
Two other knights tug chains from the top of the bed toward Fiona. The links clink together, causing her to turn her head.
"Look at me," I order.
She obeys, swallowing hard.
Cuffs lock around her wrists. The same sound fills the air, and the length of the chain forces her onto her toes.
"Enough," I assert, and the noise stops.
A few moments pass, with tension growing between us. My body floods with an ache so deep I have to remind myself of my duties as king. I finally demand, "Display the queen's beauty for all to see."
Two knights reach for my bride, putting one hand under her armpit and another on her waist. They carefully move her toward the top of the bed and lie her on her back. Two others shackle her ankles. Metal clatters again until her legs are secured and spread open. The knights take their swords, holding them in the air above Fiona, and touching the one directly across from them.
She lifts her head, meets my gaze, and furrows her eyebrows. Her pink tongue darts out of her mouth, lightly grazing her pouty lips. Then I think my mind is playing games on me again. I swear a smile teases her face, directed at me, pushing against her flushed cheeks.
My cock throbs and pre-cum escapes the slit. She's the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen, and I don't understand why my little bird isn't giving me the same look as other women. Nothing is hiding me anymore, and my wife's taunting expression baffles me.
The gong bangs once, and the arena falls silent.
My pulse races faster. I step under the swords, kneel on the end of the mattress, and slide my hands over the inside of her legs, inching toward the damp lace between her thighs.
She shudders, whimpering, oddly enough sounding exactly how I've imagined all these months. She closes her eyes, leans her head back, and lifts her pelvis, opening her mouth.
"Sexy little bird," I praise, stopping before her pussy, circling my thumbs several times.
"Mmm," she softly moans, her chest trembling. She grips the chains and meets my gaze.
I slip my thumbs under the wet material until they touch her hole, taunting, "A queen serves her king. When she does, she gets rewarded. Is that what you want, my little bird? To have me reward you?" I thrust my thumbs inside her until her pussy hits my palm.
"Oh!" she cries out, arching her back and yanking on the chains.
I bend my thumbs, swirling my pads against her inner walls, watching her with awe, ready to remember every response she gives me.
Her whimpers turn louder. Ragged breath escapes her mouth. Green flames burn brighter in her eyes as they challenge me, not escaping my scrutiny.
The arena fills with women moaning. Men grunt and pound their torches on the ground. The room grows hotter, and the knights don't dare move, making urgent, guttural sounds.
I lower my face, keeping my thumbs inside her, and press my mouth to the lace.
"Oh!" she cries out louder.
I glance at her, swiping my tongue over the material, flicking her clit with every swipe.
"Kirill," she breathes, her body shaking harder .
I push deeper, circle faster, and curl my pointer finger over the wet material, pulling it out of the way. I suck her clit, groaning at the salty sweetness I never thought I'd get to taste.
"Oh fuck!" she rasps, grinding her pussy against my face, yanking on the chains so hard they creak.
My obsession takes over all decisions. I work her pussy with my mouth, making her come over and over, her body in a constant state of convulsions.
Her voice cracks, "I-I can't take any more."
Feeling crazed, I barely stop, arrogantly insisting, "You're the queen. Your job is to serve me."
Her red cheeks glisten with sweat. Her greens flood with exhaustion.
I return to her pussy, making her come several more times until she squirts her arousal all over my mouth. I groan, lapping it up, until I realize the gong's been clanging nonstop.
Shit.
I blink, out of breath, swiping my arm over my mouth, not taking my gaze off hers.
Her chest rises and falls in short bursts. She slowly relaxes against the bed, her fingers peel away from the chains, and she keeps her focus on me.
The gong blares four times. The knights at the end of the bed reel the chains until Fiona's ankles are in the air.
I move so my thighs are against the back of hers, dragging my knuckles over her breasts and stomach.
She quivers, opens her mouth, then shuts it.
The gong sounds two times.
A knight holds out his sword. "Your Majesty. "
I create some room between Fiona and me and take it from him.
Her head jerks against the mattress.
I instruct, "Don't move, little bird."
She holds her breath with fear blooming on her expression. "Kirill?—"
"Shh," I order.
She swallows hard.
I reach for the soaking lace, tug it toward me, and slice through it. Then I hold the material taut and slowly slice it straight over her belly button and through her cleavage.
Goose bumps pop out on her flawless skin.
I put the flat of the blade across her neck.
She freezes.
"I hope you remember what I told you earlier," I state, not wanting to do what I'm about to do.
It's a test. There's only one way out of it for her. If she doesn't obey and do what I told her, she's dead.
She blinks a few times.
The crowd is silent.
I move the lingerie to the sides, assessing my bride, approving of her hard, pink nipples, soft belly, and graceful, elongated neck. More pre-cum oozes from my throbbing cock. I lift the sword and return it to the knight.
The arena fills with hissing. It's the loudest it's been, and it digs into me until I sink into the zone, forgetting everything and everyone but my wife, the queen of The Underworld, and the bride I hope stays alive.
In one thrust, I enter her, groaning with short-lived relief .
She gasps, her eyelids fluttering.
Jesus. She took all of me.
I praise, "That's right, my queen. Your king's going to reward you for your good service." I slide my hand up her stomach, over her breast, and curl my fingers around her throat.
Her eyes widen.
I lean into her ear, tightening and loosening my grip, thrusting slowly, murmuring, "Remember, a queen must obey her king." I kiss under her lobe, my pulse pounding and fear mixing with my arousal.
She turns her head, meeting my stare with an equally challenging one.
It creates a new havoc within me. It digs into the depths of who I am, the overwhelming urges I've fought since the night I first met her, and the contrast between maintaining my position as king and wanting to keep her as my queen.
Even if her reaction to me is all in my head, the possibility of never again seeing the expression she's given me all night claws at my gut.
It's everything I didn't expect, and enough to make me more fearful of what's to come.
For my bride's sake and mine, she better tap out.