Chapter 20
Twenty
A good brownie never has sex with bad people.
But is burning children really that bad? I mean it’s not like it’s cannibalism. - Arienna
Chewing on my lip, I pace the suite in my blue slip: bedroom, sitting room, bathroom. Bathroom, sitting room, bedroom. The creaking timber of the tree stays silent under my feet. But the thoughts in my head won’t stop screaming.
I am married.
To the fairy king.
A warmonger.
A potential cannibal.
Who supposedly wants peace.
And a puppy.
And who kisses like he can’t exist without tasting me.
Confusion and confliction battle it out inside me. I want to believe he’s good. I want to believe he isn’t a child-eating monster.
What I really want, though, is to have sex without my stupid conscience getting in the way. I can practically see Fabia’s eyes rolling around at that.
“He’s a warmonger, remember?”
That just means he has extensive experience ravaging people.
“Also a cannibal –”
So he knows how to eat.
“– who eats babies.”
He can eat this babe.
“There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
Uh, yeah, duh – I’m not currently getting my insides rearranged by my husband.
I wince.
Rearranged in the good way, obviously. Not in the “your intestines will be pulled out of your anus” way. Ew. Who’d even thought of that anyways? Whoever it was – they were the one who had something wrong with them. Not me.
Besides, I am 99% certain Nicholas was joking about the whole child slave labour stuff. I mean, really, who wants to use children as slaves? They start off puny and weak. Then when they finally hit puberty and are capable of packing on muscle, they become, well, teenagers.
No.
No one in their right mind would ever think that was a good idea. Groups of teenagers are scary at the best of times. Give them all a reason to hate you, and I’m pretty sure your death would be counted as a suicide.
After all, there is a reason no one wants to foster them –even though that is what good brownies are supposed to do.
It’s the number one reason people go to jail in Brownston.
Though it’s not really a big deal for said teens considering to get a house, as with everything else, all you have to do is ask someone for theirs.
Walking back into the bedroom, I stop at the foot of the bed. My cheeks heat as I imagine firm abs and hard hands crawling all up my body. My fingers trail across my throat. My pussy clenches with need.
It’s been weeks since I’ve been laid. Almost a year since I’ve experienced an orgasm through someone else’s doing. Surely, that justifies sleeping with a mass murderer?
I mean, the men in Fabia’s romance books aren’t exactly honourable either.
In fact, they’re even worse than Richard.
They don’t just burn babies; they know how many dead ones it takes to fill a bathtub.
Thirty-four. As well as the amount needed if the babies are blended first. Fifty-two and a half.
They kill and ravage and do so many unspeakable things all to get their woman back.
And she’s rarely ever in any actual danger considering she often ends up adding her kidnappers to her harem a few chapters later.
So really, when compared to the love interests in Fabia’s books, Richard is a flippin’ saint.
And if he’s a saint, is it not my duty as a good brownie to worship him?
Preferably with my tongue?
I lick my lips.
Bite back a groan.
Oh yeah, that’s definitely what I should be doing.
I’d run my lips down his chest, making my way to his glorious, sexy cock – it would be long and thick but not too long or thick. Nothing scary. Or ugly. Gah, so many of them are ugly. Why couldn’t the gods have given men something that has an appeal equal to boobs? I mean, those are nice.
But instead, they’ve given us veiny dicks.
And hairy balls.
How is that fair?
Men get to suck on freaking heaven – big or small, it doesn’t matter; all boobs are great.
But balls?
There isn’t a single ball sack in existence that is nice to look at. They are wrinkly and hairy and are only ever put in our mouths out of kindness.
Man, the gods really messed up there. If they had only made balls and cocks nicer to play with, we’d do it more often rather than just on special occasions.
I cock my head to the side, a new business idea coming to mind: makeup for ball sacks. Or masks. Fabia would love that. I take a step towards the door, wanting to go tell her before remembering Richard is coming soon.
I grin. Coming soon. Oh yeah, he will be.
I look down at my blue slip. It isn’t the prettiest piece, but it’s sexier than my plain tan underwear. At least this has a bit of lace, even if that lace has been stained from my adventures.
I frown.
Lick my finger and rub at a stain.
When it doesn’t come out, I swallow nervously.
Richard is a king.
He’s had his whole pick of women.
He’s also a warrior.
Who has had his whole pick of villagers too.
Whereas, all I’ve had was Simon. And Karl. And I didn’t even manage to keep them!
“Oh no, no, no, no.” Pacing, I rub at my blue slip harder. What if I embarrass myself? What if he isn’t here because I’m not attractive enough? Knowledgeable enough? What if he –
I stop, my heart in my throat.
What if he isn’t already here because he doesn’t want to be here? It’s been nearly an hour since Nicholas left, and Richard hasn’t arrived.
He might never be coming.
I flinch, thoughts of Karl swarming my mind.
Memories of him not meeting me on time. Learning he was with my sister. Then my mum. What if Richard’s with someone else? What if on our wedding night, he’s –
I shake my head. Take a deep breath. Try to control the shakes trembling throughout my body.
No. He won’t do that. He’s my lifemate… isn’t he?
“Are you really that naive?”
Rushing to the door, I yank it open. “Where is he?” I demand, not sure if I want to know but unwilling to take it back.
The guard on the right turns to me, her gold eyes full of pity. She glances down my slip, taking in all the stains. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hide the worst of it. My cheeks heating, I glance at my feet.
“Who?” she asks.
I look up at her, blinking rapidly as I struggle to keep my feelings in check. “Richard. King Morningstar.”
“I am not privy to his schedule.”
My fingers dig into my arms. Doubt claws at my mind. Flashes of a woman that isn’t me rolls through it, wrapped up in the arms of my lifemate.
“But I would imagine he’s in his study. He spends most nights there, even has a bed on the mezzanine.”
A chill runs through me. Do I really want to voice the next words?
Trembling, I murmur, “Can you take me to him, please?”
Without a word, she walks forward. I follow her, my eyes on my feet, my heart in my throat. With every step, my doubts strengthen. He is a fairy.
And I am a brownie.
What can he possibly want with me?
“Keep your chin up,” she says as we round a corner. “King Morningstar doesn’t like weakness.”
My eyes dart to her, taking in her black leather armour, the sword at her waist. Her muscles are perfectly defined – a clear testament to her strength. Whereas I don’t have a muscle on me that is of any use. I spend my days reading and drinking. Gods, I could use a drink right now.
Reaching over, she nudges my chin. “Look up,” she says, “and breathe. He’s not as scary as he looks.”
Scary? I blink. He looks scary? I think he looks delicious. Too delicious. Ridiculously delicious. So delicious he has to constantly fend off women wanting to get in his pants. “Is he kind?” I blurt. Kind enough not to cheat?
She snorts. “No.”
My chest deflates.
“But he respects your boundaries. If you don’t want to do something, just say so.”
“What if I don’t want him to do something?”
Her eyes flicker to me. A knowing grin pulls at her lips. “Trust me. You’ll want him to do everything.”
My mouth opens as my eyes widen. “Wait, what? What are we talking about?”
“Him in bed… aren’t we?”
No, but we sure are now! “How many women has he had?”
She shakes her head. “Ask me something you actually want to know.” She leans over. “Like where is he pierced.”
I stumble over my own feet.
She laughs, carefree and teasing.
“His nipples?” I breathe, picturing it in my mind.
She shakes her head again.
My eyes widen. I swallow. Hard. And imagine something else sliding down my throat. A cold piece of metal hitting my tonsils.
Dear gods, I cannot wait to feel it.
“Does he last longer than four seconds?”
It’s her turn to stumble. “Oh, you poor thing. Seconds? No. Minutes? No. Hours… I’ve heard he’s gone for days before.”
My mind melts from the heat coursing through my body.
“And given how long it’s been for him – suspected, of course.” She grins. “We take bets. Ajax said Irin said that Revna said that no one has gained entrance to his bedroom in almost six months.”
My feet bang into each other again. I reach a hand out to the wall to find my balance. “Six months?” A brownie would literally die. It’s how my Aunt Nora kicked the bucket. She could’ve used a bucket, ironically, considering she fell into an empty well three days before her end.
“Suspected. My sister reckons it’s been longer.”
“How much longer?”
“A year? But that’s just crazy.” She stops before we turn the corner. Lowering her voice, she leans in. “Do me a favour and keep track of how long he lasts the first time, will you?”
“The first…” I blink, the rest of her words sinking in. “What, no? I’m not –”
She laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. There’s no way you’ll be in a mind to count.” Shrugging, she steps around the corner. “But with a week of latrine duty on the line, I had to ask.”
Before I can say anything, she stops in front of a black door. Two guards are stationed outside it: one raven-haired male, one blonde female. Curved swords hang at their sides. Leather adorns their toned bodies.
“She’s here to see King Morningstar.”
Nodding, the woman knocks on the door.
I twist my fingers in my slip, my nerves coming back in a rush. I shiver as someone on the other side pulls the door open.
Jace pokes his head out, his mien easy, relaxing some of the tension in my shoulders. A grin spreads across his lips as his eyes land on mine. “Come in.”
I glance at my guard as I take the first step. My chest squeezes all of the air from my lungs as I look upon my king. Sitting at his desk, his head bent over some paper, he looks regal. Untouchable. Way out of my league.
Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should’ve stayed in my chambers.
“Your wife is here to see you.” Walking past me, Jace stands beside Richard. He smiles encouragingly, and I grab on to that like the last slice of cake.
Lifting my chin, taking solace in the fact that there isn’t another woman in here, I blurt, “I’d like you to… to join me in my chambers. For our wedding night.”
Flipping a page, Richard keeps his eyes on his desk. “No.” He jots something down. “You’re dismissed.”