Chapter 11
Eleven
A princess (or prince) cannot inherit the crown unless she (or he) proves herself (or himself) capable.
Fuck you, Oyveni. - King Richard
“Will you do this for me, Jace? For her?”
My friend’s muscles completely relax. The air ripples with danger. Despite myself, my fingers graze the hilt of my dagger in fear.
Clenching my jaw, I force the memory down. But it lingers in the form of a bad taste, a tormented energy that needs to be expelled. My muscles twitch as I storm through the halls of the castle. The urge to pick a fight, any fight, courses through my veins.
Tightening my hands into fists, I flex them and then relax. I roll my neck from side to side. Bite back the urge to throw a fist into a fucking wall. The guards watching us look quickly away, no one meeting my gaze. No one issuing a silent challenge.
Once we step out onto the balcony, I dive off the edge, hurling straight down to the dungeons.
But not even the high speeds can rip the guilt off my shoulders.
The sharp twists and turns as we enter the maze do nothing to expunge the energy eating me alive.
“Did you do it?”
Jace doesn’t look me in the eye. Barrelling past me, he is the epitome of a haunted man. A broken one.
Pulling up at the last second, I land hard on the balcony leading into the dungeons.
We don’t bother to guard this place; no prisoner has ever escaped.
The cell doors can’t be opened without the magic of a wand, and any witches we take into custody aren’t held here.
But even if a fairy were to break out, they wouldn’t be able to fly through the maze.
We cut off their wings before we lock them up.
These cells aren’t for the average prisoner; they are only for those on death row.
But if, by some miracle, someone did manage to climb their way out, the next floor up houses the palace guards. Any escapees would be killed on the spot.
Sweat drips down my face. My breath releases in hard exhales. Jace lands softly behind me, his footsteps damn near silent.
I stop at the top of the stairs. Frowning, I lock eyes on my brother’s discarded tunic.
Jace laughs, loud and carefree. “Zeus’ ass. I hope that bastard’s getting laid.”
I want to smile, but I don’t. Assaulted by the image of a pink-haired brownie in the arms of my brother, I’m filled with an even bigger urge to hit something.
Ignoring the unwanted snake of jealousy, I turn around and face the maze above us. “We’ll leave them to it,” I say.
With fast flutters of my wings, I take to the air. I fly just as hard going up as I did coming down. Except this time, it isn’t the guilt driving me.
It’s the image of my queen getting her brains fucked out by my brother.
Which is completely. Fucking. Unreasonable.
She isn’t mine, I tell myself.
Even when she marries me, she won’t be mine.
I touch down on the next floor up, needing to wash the guilt and jealousy off my skin.
“Will you speak to her at the wedding then?” Jace asks.
Ignoring him, I head inside.
The halls are wonderfully quiet, this morning’s sparring session having not yet finished. As soon as it does, these corridors will be packed with sweaty warriors.
“Which one do you think Nicholas is with?” Jace asks, not taking the fucking hint that I don’t want to talk. Or rather, he’s taken the bloody hint and then thrown it out the godsdamn window.
Pretending as if I haven’t heard him, I head towards the back chambers, where only my elite guards are allowed to bathe. The sound of a moan cuts my stride mid-step.
My chest tightens, and I know without a doubt that the moan is hers.
My queen’s.
The brownie that isn’t mine.
“Dear gods, this feels amazing,” she moans, each word slamming into my heart, making it pound with a fervour I don’t desire.
Is she naked? Does she like it rough? Is she touching herself, sliding two fingers in as she–
Lunging to the right, I slam Jace into the wall, pinning his throat with my forearm. The bastard tried to sneak past me to take a look.
Cursing, I take a step back and drop my arm.
Jace stares at me for a split second and then he laughs. “Jealousy looks good on you, Your Majesty.”
I play with the idea of cutting his tongue off and shoving it down his throat. Except, masochist that he is, he would probably get a boner.
I turn away in disgust.
“Where are you going?” he shouts.
I freeze, knowing damn well he said it loud enough for my brother to hear. A promise of death in my eyes, I turn back around.
Jace grins, not a slither of fear in him.
“Richard?” Nicholas calls from the other side of the door. Water splashes. Wet footsteps squelch across the floor.
Before he can open it, I stride inside. Jace trails behind me, a shadow I’ve long learned I cannot shake.
“Did you get an answer?” I snap, my voice a near growl. The urge to look into the emerald pool, at the pink-haired brownie relaxing in it, wraps around every atom of my existence. My entire body is as attuned to her now as it was last night when I carried her drunken ass to the dungeons.
But I refuse to give in, to look. I am the master of my own body.
“Not yet. I’ve only just asked.”
“You’ve been down here for hours, Nicholas,” I snap.
My brother raises a brow in surprise, his eyes glancing to Jace. Picturing the bastard behind me smiling like a fool, I struggle to regain my control.
“It’s you,” the brownie breathes, rising from the water like Aphrodite did all those years ago. “I’m happy you’re not a dream.”
I look at her, about to ask what she’s talking about, but my tongue becomes as useless as a male virgin to a woman wanting an orgasm.
She is naked.
And dripping wet.
And staring at me as if she wants to have things done to her that would make even a brownie blush.
Shifting my feet, I break hold of her gaze. As my eyes latch on to her small breasts, I am irritated to discover she isn’t naked at all. Her bathing suit – or bra, rather, is just a close match to the colour of her skin.
Scowling, I look at Nicholas. Jace snickers behind me.
“Is everything okay?” my brother asks slowly.
“I needed your answer before the meeting. What the fuck have you been doing?”
“And why did you need to take off your tunic?” Jace adds innocently behind me.
I refuse to react, to show my need to know.
As Arienna moves again, stepping from the rock pool, I find myself watching her.
Her legs, although short, captivate every part of me.
Beads of water slide down her tanned flesh, and I imagine licking them all up one at a time.
The V between her thighs is soaked, though not in the way I want it to be.
I wonder if she is a squirter. I curse myself for never being able to find out.
If the Court thinks I have an obsession with her –which I don’t– they will try to find a way to use her against me.
They will make the torture even more vile, expecting me to break, to refuse to do my duty and execute her.
It would be grounds for my ‘dismissal’ as king, something I refuse to let happen before I can drag Raza into a new age.
Wrenching my gaze away from her gorgeous body, I focus back on my brother. “Well?” I growl when it takes him more than a second to respond. Fuck. I need to get out of here, to get away from her.
“What in Hel’s name is your problem?” A woman snaps. “Do you get off on throwing your weight around? It’s no wonder you can’t find a wife on your own. I bet Arienna isn’t even the first prisoner you asked, is she? But they all gladly chose death rather than be shackled to you.”
A smile pulls at my lips as I turn to the other brownie. It is not a friendly one. “If you want to stay in my kingdom, you’ll go back to standing in the corner like you were.” I am guessing here. I didn’t even realise she was in the room until she spoke.
“Hey! You don’t talk to Fabia like that.”
I turn to Arienna. My words slip free before I even realise I’m thinking them. “You don’t talk to her like that, my king.”
She stops in her tracks, her pink brows furrowing in surprise.
My heart begins to race. “You’ll address me with respect.” I just want to hear her say it. My king. “Just as I will you.” I pause, looking her in the eye. “My queen,” I breathe.
She swallows. My gaze follows the working of her throat.
“Well… uh…” She glances at her friend. “Respect is earned and um…” Her eyes plea with Fabia to help her out.
I turn my head to glare her into silence, but my brother’s already grabbed her from behind, with one hand wrapped around her mouth.
The corners of my lips twitch as I turn my attention back to my queen.
“To respect me, you have to respect her,” she says.
My eyes narrow.
She starts to fidget, playing with a tendril of pale-pink hair as her cheeks heat. But she still holds my gaze. Still holds my breath in the palm of her hand. “My king.”
Instantly, the tension in my chest relaxes. I glance at Nicholas and nod for him to let Fabia go. He does so slowly.
“Get her ready for the wedding,” I say, taking a step towards the door.
“But I didn’t agree –”
My eyes snap to Arienna’s, burrowing into the pale pink of her irises. “You did when you claimed me as your king. My queen.”
Her cheeks flush, making me want to go to her, to claim her as my queen in every sense of the word.
Instead, I force myself to leave. She is a means to an end first and foremost. A figurehead queen second. And third…
Third, she is a dead woman walking.
She isn’t anything other than that.