Chapter 26 Basten #3
And worst of all? I hate that a part of me wonders if she’s not entirely wrong about Rian.
He got his hands dirty tonight—dragging Gaez out of the dungeon, slitting his neck, burying a fucking axe in his head.
And nothing in it for him, this time.
The knife in my hand feels suddenly heavy. Slowly, I sheathe it, but leave the clasp open if I need to act fast.
My voice scrapes out low as I ask Sabine, “So now, what? Let him go? Give him a fucking title and satin sash?”
Sabine paces in front of the throne, her brows pulled in tight. I watch her closely, fighting to keep up a brave front. All of this—this gods-damned mess. I’m tired of it, down to my fucking bones. Dammit, I miss the way things used to be.
From the looks of it, she does, too.
She stops in front of the throne, and a change seems to come over her. It’s small. Almost imperceivable, but I know her better than my own reflection.
A glint of wildness flashes in her eye. Her fey pulses brighter, just for a moment.
She cocks her head and asks in a deep, velvety rumble, “Are you loyal to me, Rian?”
Rian takes a second to clock her strategy, the gears turning behind his eyes. Then, he leans back, eyes hooded, half a smirk hanging on his lips.
“Always,” he says. “Songbird, Sabine, Solene. Glory to all of you. Glory to whatever you fucking turn out to be next.”
Sabine glances at me—a question or a reassurance, I’m not sure—and then holds out her hand to Rian, her wedding ring flashing in her own glowing silver light. She flashes her incisors. “Prove it.”
Rian’s breath catches, unsure, but only for a fraction of a moment. Then, he leans forward, taking his time now, head bowed to her. He wraps his fingers around her hand and kisses the ring, letting his lips linger on the cool bite of silver.
His fucking lips are on my woman.
I shift from foot to foot, muscles tight, heart hammering like a damn battering ram. Sabine comes around the throne and rests a soft, reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her soft eyes meet mine. “Trust me, Basten.”
I bite back my jealousy, crack my neck, and let out a grunt.
She smiles softly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and dips down to slowly raise her skirt to mid-thigh. She toes off her right boot, then extends her beautiful foot, wiggling her perfect toes.
She clears her throat pointedly at Rian.
He doesn’t move, his lips parted in a half-question, a touch of disbelief in the way his gaze flicks from Sabine to me.
A drip of sweat rolls down my temple. It isn’t warm in the throne room, but my clothes feel tight. Restrictive. I can’t quite seem to catch my breath.
“You want me to—” Rian starts.
“Are you loyal or not?” I slam my hand against the back of his head, pushing him off the throne onto his knees.
He winces but quickly recovers, the vexed look still dancing across his features. As though he expects me to wrap my hands around his throat at any moment and choke him out.
Gods be damned, I bet he’d like it.
He starts to lower to his hands, but he doesn’t move fast enough for my liking, so I dig my boot onto his back until he’s on all fours, prostrate before Sabine.
“I, well…” he chuckles, starts again, this time with his perpetual trace of irony. “I’m your servant, songbird.”
But there’s something different in the way his voice breaks at the end. As if, for once, he actually means it.
He lowers down and presses a kiss to her toes.
Still lowered, an inch from the floor, he tilts his head and murmurs, “Anywhere else you want me to kiss you, songbird?”
There’s a challenge to his voice now. A slick confidence, like he’s holding a shit hand at Basel but is ready to bluff his way to win the whole pot.
His eyes slide to mine, testing me, as he trails his lips over the arch of her foot to her ankle. He runs a reverent hand up her calf to her knee.
He murmurs, “I’ll worship you anywhere.”
I look toward the ceiling, roll back my shoulders, and fight the urge to kick his damn lips off her. My own skin is hot, pulling tight as my muscles tense. I’m not sure how much of this I can take.
Of course Rian is getting off on this. I’ve known him a long time—nothing could surprise me less. Hell, Rian would get off on the power play between a damn cat and mouse.
But it’s not just him.
I’m acutely aware of Sabine in every moment—so attuned to her own needs that I know the thrum of her pulse better than my own. And something about having Rian grovel at her feet, the man who shamed her now kissing prayers along her skin…it’s affecting her, too.
Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate. Her pulse throbs.
I growl, territorial, but Sabine turns to me and rests a hand on my chest. There’s something in her eyes. An openness that begs me to trust her. To stand by her side. To be with her—even through this.
Gods help me, I always will.
As the silence stretches, Rian’s practically panting like a dog, trailing his fingers along her bare thigh, ready and willing for everything.
Abruptly, she steps back, pulling her leg away from his touch. Her skirt falls to cover her skin.
Rian gives a small whimper of longing, but she clicks her other heel on the floor. Sharp. Commanding.
She’s all business again as she jerks her chin toward me.
“Now show your loyalty to your king,” she says.
I bristle, blinking fast. Glance at Sabine. Wait…I’m a part of this?
It’s one thing for Sabine to assert her domination over the man who tormented her. She deserves to make him beg. I like to see his lips on her about as much as I’d like to be dipped in molten lead, but there is something, well, satisfying about seeing him on his knees before her.
The great High Lord of Duren, the former King of Astagnon, reduced to begging like a dog for a scrap of her mercy.
Rian sits back on his heels, his eyes wide and the smirk gone from his face. If he has a losing hand, he isn’t trying to bluff now.
He looks between the two of us, as incredulous as a school boy, as if, at any moment, we’ll all burst into laughter and call it all a jest.
Stab a knife into his heart.
But Sabine’s face remains serious as fucking stone.
I swallow, shift my weight to the other foot. I could stop this. Just one word, and it would end.
But…I think I understand now what Sabine is doing.
Me? I prefer to work out my differences with Rian with our fists. But I guess there’s more than one way to work out such bone-deep tension.
Rian looks to me, his brows pulling together, still unsure if I’m about to stab him in the ear. He starts to speak but then stops, wetting his dry lips, and raises an eyebrow. “Toes?”
“Fuck you, you ass,” I growl. “Put your lips on me, and I’ll kick you to the Panopis Sea. You can kiss my boot.”
Rian’s mouth quirks, almost a smile.
Truth be told, this—whatever this is—isn’t entirely new.
We were youths once. Neither of us strangers to the brothel or to the bottom of a tankard.
Most nights, we sought our own pleasure, but there were a few times we ended up in some pub’s backroom with a girl shared between us.
My cock between her lips while Rian took her from behind.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen his bare ass pumping into some whore. But those times…they were different.
None of those girls meant much to either of us. As long as the girl was willing and we kept her moaning with pleasure, then I didn’t think twice about sharing. Jealous? Hell, I was too drunk to hardly know where she ended and Rian began.
Now?
I haven’t had a sip of ale. I’m not some gawky youth. I’m Sabine’s fucking husband—and I’ve killed men for even looking at her the wrong way.
But…she’s depleted.
It’s clear in the hollows around her eyes, the dullness to her skin. She needs replenishment in a way no bread or bottle of wine can give her—not now. She’s gone too far. She’s too damn stubborn to drink my blood, so worried that she won’t be able to stop.
She might not be wrong.
The truth I don’t want to face is this: I don’t think my blood alone can satisfy her. Not my prayers, not my cock. Which means I can’t satisfy her. I’d lay down my life for her, let her drink me dry, but even then, she’d soon need more.
But with two of us…
Rian and me…
Together, we might be enough.
The thought cuts me like a blade, so wrong, but also necessary.
All this tears through my head as Rian slowly wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, then lowers, painstakingly keeping his eyes on me, to my boots.
A silent question.
A silent offering.
He touches his lips to the leather, all dirt and soot and damn, probably even horse shit.
He murmurs wryly, “Glory to King Basten.”
I flinch, ready to grab him by the scruff and tell him to fuck off, but I stop myself.
There’s a strange feeling in my chest—a hot, dark kind of pride. Maybe…I see what Sabine gets out of this. For all the times I’ve said Rian and I were like brothers, it isn’t true. Not really.
He always had the money.
The title.
The power.
Until, well, now.
I glance at Sabine, and she meets my gaze with a question in her eyes. She steps forward, combing her fingers tenderly through my hair, her lips full as she murmurs, “You said you’d follow me anywhere, Basten. Will you follow me here? End this tension between the three of us, once and for all?”
My pulse slams.
She stares at me, and I stare back, at a loss for words.
Finally, I unclip my belt that holsters my knives, pull it off with a snap of leather.
Whatever is about to happen? Hell, it’s going to be dangerous enough without blades.
I toss the belt and holster across the polished floor.
“He can touch you,” I say to her, low and possessive. “Kiss you. Worship you. But only I fuck you.”