Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
A good brownie never curses.
Unless the situation really, really calls for it. - Arienna
Hot.
Flippin’.
Damn.
I can’t wait to see him again.
That was the best sex I’ve ever had – even though he didn’t even put it in me. I was hurt when he threw me out half-way through, but I’m willing to risk that pain again just to come that hard.
Despite being a kingdom that lives and breathes sex, Brownston could really learn some things by studying the fairies. Dear gods, do they not make men like him back home.
Stretching slowly, I sit up in bed, a goofy smile on my face. Desire forms at the mere thought of him. Flashes of me down on my knees, of him pushing inside my mouth fill my mind. I can hear the grunts and growls of his arousal, taste his precum on my lips.
Reaching between my legs, I start to stroke myself. I close my eyes, imagining the hard push of his fingers, the rough taking of my mouth. He didn’t just use me. He owned me, and gods, I never knew that could be hot.
Leaning back against the headrest, I run my other hand down my throat to my breasts, then give them each a squeeze. “My king,” I breathe, building myself up, thinking about all the things he’ll do to me.
Karl was always a two-pumps man, and Simon never wanted to do anything other than missionary. But Richard will try everything. I just know it.
My hips bucking, I stroke myself faster, rubbing my clit like he did. Squeezing my breast, I arch on the bed as I come all over my fingers. I breathe heavily as I lower myself back down and open my eyes.
I am so looking forward to seeing him this morning. Perhaps if he refuses to let me leave the castle like I want, I can ‘convince him with my wily ways’.
Giggling, I scoot off the bed and pad towards the ensuite. My blue slip sits crumpled in a heap where I left it by the sofa. Dirty. Used. Delicious.
Remembering all the glorious details about last night, I grin as I pass it. A step later, I’m hit hard with hindsight and regret: the slip is the only thing I have to wear. And I used it as a rag last night, wiping all the cum off my face.
I wrinkle my nose. It’s going to be dried and crusty now. Scratchy and gross. Yet, what else do I have to wear?
My eyes linger on my wedding dress. Nope. Out of the two of them, the cum-covered slip is still the prettier option. Nicholas’ taste really is awful.
After washing up in the bathroom, I tug on the slip and try my best to ignore all the parts where it sticks together. It’s not like I left his study very sneakily. Crusty clothes or not, everyone already knows. And if I’m being honest, a part of me likes them knowing.
Back off, people. He’s mine.
I grin as I open the door of the suite.
“Gods, you look awful,” Ajax says as he barges in before I can step out. “I hope this isn’t your default setting.”
My mouth drops open as I turn to follow him. “What are you doing? I’m about to go see Richard.”
His lips pursed, he looks me up and down. “To do what? Ask for payment for your services?” He shakes his head, the silver hair that hangs to his waist swaying back and forth. “No, that can’t be it. Even prostitutes have better style than” –he waves a ringed hand at me– “whatever this is.”
“Hey! I’m –” My attention is snagged by a young girl wheeling a full-length mirror in front of her and a railing of clothes behind her. She settles both of them in the middle of my room, causing me to groan.
“Please tell me I only have to try on one thing. I have to get home today to… uh, pick up some belongings.” That isn’t technically a lie. Wasps are sort of belongings – if anyone can really own a ball of angry, violent, do-their-own-thing fluff. That doesn’t listen to a word you say, ever.
“If it’s the right thing, then yes.” Ajax turns to the girl. “Ella, step aside and let her choose. We’ll see what her taste is and go from there.” He purses his lips. “She can’t exactly choose worse.”
“Hey! The dress I wore to my mum’s wedding was pretty. I just took it off because it was too restricting.”
“Well, luckily, everything we’ve brought is designed for ease of movement because restrictions can get you killed.
” He flicks through the rack and grabs a purple jumpsuit.
“For instance, this. The legs are loose, allowing full kicks to the face. The skirt is reinforced woven spider thread, making it virtually stab proof. The belt has a wire underline, allowing it to be used as a garrotte should the need arise.” Pulling it out, he wraps it around his throat.
I cringe, deciding against this piece immediately.
“The cape sleeve is brilliant for hiding your knives and other weapons, and most importantly,” he says, digging his hand into the trousers, “it has pockets.”
I force a smile. “Well, uh, it’s very pretty, and I really love that it has pockets, but is there anything that’s less… lethal?”
Ajax blinks. Then shrugs. “I guess you don’t need any weaponised clothing given you’ll always have a guard on you. And you know, the whole, being executed thing.” He nods as he rummages through the rack again. “It’ll probably be kinder to let someone kill you now.”
“Oh, no,” I assure him. “I’m not being executed.”
He glances at me over his shoulder, a dry look in his eyes.
“King Morningstar doesn’t share anything, sweetie, least of all his crown.
You can ask his sister that. Wait, no, you can’t because she’s dead.
” Grabbing a short black dress with silver embroidery crawling across its hem, he holds it up to me.
“This has concealment straps for about a dozen weapons but nothing built in.”
I shake my head, still stuck on the whole ‘I might be executed thing’. “But Richard said if I married him, they’d stop the execution.”
“Did he? Because our king is many things, but he’s not a liar. The Court decides executions, not him.”
“But, he –” I trail off, realising he never actually said I wouldn’t be killed. He said I wouldn’t be tortured.
My breath catches.
My mind screams.
The mother flippin’.
Frecken’.
Bloody.
Poopface.
No. I hesitate, a pressure building in my chest. A good brownie never curses. But…
“The mother fucker.” And gods does that feel good to say, even if it’s muttered under my breath so softly, I don’t even hear it.
Louder, I ask, “But why marry me at all then?” My throat tightens. My thoughts spin.
“Let’s go with this one,” he says. “I think it’ll bring out your eyes nicely, and knowing King Morningstar, he’ll be dressed all in black. You’ll match.”
Bewilderment covers my face. “I don’t want us to match! You just said he’s still going to kill me.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky then. I’d kill to die right now.”
“What?”
Shaking his head, he gestures to his assistant. “I’m done for the day. Deal with this while I go get a drink. If you can get her to pick out a few more outfits, I’ll give you a raise.”
My mouth falls open when he actually leaves. Fairies are the worst! How can he drop a thing like that and then leave me to deal with it on my own?
My breathing comes out faster.
Anger builds in my chest.
The world starts closing in.
My hands clench.
I’m going to be sick.
Or faint.
Knowing my luck, I’ll do both.
Breaking through my haze, the girl says, “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re clearly going through something, but can you just pick a few outfits at random? I could really use the extra cash, and Dad’s a stickler for raises.”
I look at her, blinking rapidly. “What am I going to do?”
“Well,” she says slowly, “you can pick out a few extra outfits.” Smiling cheerfully, she adds, “maybe even the one you’ll die in, hmm?” Holding up a red jumpsuit, she waves it in the air. “For instance, this. You won’t even be able to see any of the stains.”
My mouth falls open. Horror grabs hold of my heart and squeezes.
“Or…” she says, dragging the word out as she grabs a black jumpsuit, “this one will hide not only the blood but also your piss and shit. That’s pretty good, right? Dying in style.”
I shake my head frantically. “But I don’t want to die in style! I don’t want to die at all!”
“Well,” she says in frustration, “you don’t really get to choose that, now do you?
” Forcing another smile, she adds, “But what you can choose are a few outfits. So what do you say?” She holds up a dark plum-coloured dress and a black three-piece suit with a purple shirt. “These are sexy and queen-like, hmm?”
A good brownie would have said yes. A good brownie would have helped her get that raise A good brownie would be doing what she is, actually – being annoying optimistic.
But if I’m going to die by my own husband, then screw the rules. Where have they ever gotten me anyways? Here. Dying. That’s where. “Get out.”
“What?” Shock laces her words, alongside annoyance and disappointment, but I don’t care.
“Get. Out.”
If these are the last moments or days of my life, I want to enjoy them. And she is not enjoyment. She is depression and punch-her-in-the-face-ion. I’ve never wanted to punch anyone in the face before, but I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like.
Scoffing, she shakes her head and leaves and then I’m on my own with my thoughts, and I don’t know if that’s worse.
“He’s executing me.” I can’t believe it. Don’t want to. “He’s executing me!”
No, wait. I can believe it. Quite easily, actually.
He is a fairy, and everything is starting to make sense now.
Why he didn’t ask me to marry him himself.
Why he didn’t come to see me on our wedding night.
Why bother getting to know someone, getting attached when you’re going to kill them, amirite?
“That’s why he came on my face too! Why make love when you can just fuck it, huh? ”
Throwing my hands in the air as I pace, I dislike how much sense everything is making. More so, I dislike that Fabia was right. She’s never going to let me live this down.
Live.
I snort.
At least my death will have one silver lining.
My feet grinding to a halt, I think about all the things I planned on doing with my life.
All the dreams I made that have yet to come to fruition.
And okay, most of them I could have already done had I not kept putting them off, but, like, that was different.
That was before I knew I was actually going to die.
But now I do. And there is nothing better for stopping one’s procrastination than the approach of death.
Unfortunately, the whole thing about the approach of death jolting you out of your comfortable laziness, is that you no longer have the time to do the things you wanted to do.
And isn’t that just cruel?
Screaming, I start to pace again. I need to find out how much time I have left. Then I can start planning for all the things I want to do, like –
My eyes widen as I remember the wasps. Although I separated them all before the wedding, the buggers will chew through my walls if they’re hungry. And then they’ll kill each other, just like Hyatt did Bo.
Just like Richard is going to do to me.
But it doesn’t matter how I feel about him right now. I have to do right by my pets. Opening the door, I demand to see my executioner.
For them.
For me.
But mostly for them.