Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
A good brownie never uses chillies in cooking.
Because they’re poisonous! Finally! - Arienna
Sitting curled up on the sofa of my sitting room, I can’t get that library out of my mind. That clear and utter love letter that was built by Aurelia. Or perhaps to Aurelia, I think as I recall how Jace said her name.
It was one small sentence, but he said it with such utter reverence and devotion that I know he loves her. And dear gods, I want what they have.
I nibble my lip as I stare out the windows in front of me.
Hundreds of fairies flit past in the distance, going about their business around the city.
I love people watching, but today, I don’t take any of it in.
All I seem to be able to focus on is: can Richard and I ever have what Jace has with this mysterious Aurelia?
Can I teach him what it means to love? Just like how I taught Hyatt and Gionova and all my babies before? They wanted to kill me when we first met too, but with patience, cuddles, unconditional love, and enough food, I eventually won them over. Perhaps I can do the same with my king.
Or perhaps I’m being stupid. Naive, as Fabia would say.
Sighing, I glance at the jar of chillies sitting on the coffee table in front of me.
All of the books Jace brought back for me centred around people dying during sex. They were smothered by boobs or pussy. Choked by cocks. Drowned by squirting. Some fell out of windows or even the tree itself when their partners accidentally thrust too hard. All of it was utterly useless to me.
My boobs are too small. Richard can flip me like I weigh nothing.
I don’t have a cock, and if I have to take a potion to get one, I might as well get a monster slug dick one that can stab him as well as choke him.
But the idea of chasing him through the halls with a massive dick swaying at my hips doesn’t seem very sneaky.
His guards would definitely grab me. And then it’d be me going out the window.
As for the whole squirting part… I don’t even know if I can do that.
You could try, a little voice coos. That voice is not in my head though; it’s in my vagina. Ever since I left Richard in the hall without coming (what fucking idiot had that idea?), I’ve been desperate to be railed.
Not finger fucked. Or licked. Or rubbed over my clothes.
No. I want to be full-on, properly railed until I cannot stand. Richard said I would enjoy being edged, but he is a fucking liar.
And a killer, a little voice says, this one in my brain.
But honestly, the first voice is talking to me a lot louder.
Thus, my eyes stay latched on to the jar of chillies.
Because although the books I read at the library were all useless, they did inform me of a very important thing.
Kings have testers. And I’ve since realised that Jace didn’t just try some of my cake the other day because he loves cake.
He was sneakily testing it for poison. Now that I know that, I can’t possibly poison Richard with any food as I don’t want anyone else to accidentally die in his place.
But thanks to the books Jace sent me home with, I’ve come up with a brilliant solution.
A king’s tester only tests food. They do not first taste a woman’s vagina.
Richard likes to eat my pussy, and even when he doesn’t use his mouth, he still licks me off his fingers.
So…
Logic dictates that the best way for me to kill my king is by poisoning my vagina.
And thanks to a conversation I heard between Marrabel and Saragese, I now know that chillies are poisonous.
When they are used in food, they have to be dipped in and out of the sauces very quickly.
But if any little particle remains, it can induce vomiting, diarrhoea, difficulty breathing, intense pain, and –if the piece of chilli is big enough– death.
I would prefer to kill Richard in a way that doesn’t have “intense pain” as one of the symptoms, but given he’ll get vagina at the same time, I reckon that’ll balance it out.
After all, ninety-nine percent of the victims in the books are male, so clearly, there is a lot a man will risk for sex.
And if one thinks about it –which I have been; a lot– it’s only natural for men to die this way.
Spiders, snakes, tarantulas, praying mantises, scorpions – there are so many cases of the gods deciding that this is the way males should go.
So really, all I’m doing is obeying the words of the gods.
I can’t be a bad brownie if I do that… right?
Reaching for the jar of chillies, I try to unscrew the lid. It’s on bloody tight though, and as much as I try to wrestle with it, I cannot get it to budge. I place it back down on the table with a frown. Bugger.
I’m going to have to smash it in the sink and risk cutting my hands as I pick through the glass. Can chillies poison me that way? Hmm. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
Deciding to try one more time, I pick up the jar, grip it between my thighs, interlock my fingers, and place both of my palms on the side of the lid. Straining, I twist as hard as I can.
Pop!
The lid comes off, and my breath catches in my throat.
This is it. I just need to slip a few chillies in my vagina, then go seduce my king.
Standing, I take the jar into the ensuite. After placing it on the counter, I start to strip off my clothes. Just as I’m about to dip my fingers into the oil though, someone raps on the door of my chambers.
“Come in!” I say automatically.
I freeze, my eyes wide. Staring at myself in the mirror, I try not to panic. A good brownie always accepts guests, but damn these dang rules! They’re going to get me killed!
As the door to the hallway opens, I lunge at the door to the ensuite. Slamming it shut, I spin in place and grab my jumpsuit off the floor.
“Your Majesty?” a stranger, male, calls out as he moves into the room.
“I’m… I… I have diarrhoea!” I make a farting noise with my mouth as I hurry to put on my clothes. “But I’ll be right out!” Hopping around with one leg in my trousers, I search for the lid of the jar. Dang it! Where did I –
I freeze. Oh no! I left it on the coffee table.
What if he sees? What if he warns King Richard?
What if I put a few chillies up my vagina, but because he’s been pre-warned, he never eats me out?
What if they decide to cuff my hands behind my back this time when they take me down to the dungeons? I’ll die with chillies in my vagina!
But it’ll still be better than having Karl be the last thing that was in there, a little voice snickers.
Not helpful!
Realising I just have to hope whoever’s in my room can’t identify the lid of a chilli jar, I finish dressing, check myself in the mirror, and then step out. Keeping the door as closed as possible so he can’t see into the bathroom, I wriggle through the crack.
“Hi,” I say to the red-haired man I find standing in my sitting room. In one hand, he’s holding a bouquet of pretty teal shrooms. In his other is a large flat box balanced on his palm. Black, with a lilac bow wrapped around it, it screams class and luxury.
“Gifts of King Morningstar,” he says. “Where would you like them?”
“On the coff–” Oh! You stupid brain! I clamp my mouth shut, but he guesses what I was about to say. Turning, he looks down at the coffee table.
My breath catches in my throat.
But instead of snatching up the lid and calling for the guards, he simply puts down the bouquet. The box is placed beside it.
When he pivots around gracefully and bows at me, I breathe out in relief. But then he straightens and says, “Is there an issue with your toilet and sink, Your Majesty? I didn’t hear either of them in use, but I can fix –”
“Oh!” I dart in front of him as he heads for the ensuite.
“No! No, not at all.” I hurry to think of something to say.
“I… I uh... pooped in the shower instead…” Idiot!
Anyone who did that would then use the shower head to wash it down, and he didn’t hear that either!
“But then I... um… I waffle stomped it…” I look down at my clean feet.
“Then I… used the lush rug in there to clean my feet.” Looking back up at him, I smile confidently.
Lies are sold with confidence, according to Fabia.
He blinks.
I open my eyes wide. Smile even wider.
He takes a step back.
“Oh,” he says. He coughs. He takes another step back.
After bending at his waist again, he hurries from the room. As soon as the door shuts behind him, I sag against the wall with a sigh.
Dang that was close, but it’s a good thing I’m getting a lot better at this lying stuff.
Pushing myself back upright, I head into the bathroom to grab the open jar of chillies. I put the lid back on it, then hide it under the sofa until I can see what’s in the box the guy brought me.
He said it was a gift from Richard. But why would you give a gift to someone you’re planning to execute?
My stomach twisting with nerves, I stare at the bouquet of shrooms for a very long time.
They’re teal, with flowing, curving tops rather than the stereotypical dome.
Small dark-purple flowers are arranged in bunches between their folds, and tall stems of silver bell flowers rise gracefully above the shrooms. Tying it all together is black grass.
Does he know teal is my favourite colour, or is it just a coincidence?
Reaching down, I pick up the bouquet and bring it to my face. A smile dances on my lips even as tears press behind my eyes. A hopeful future dances so callously out of reach.
Lowering the bouquet, I start to toss it back down on the table when I realise there’s a card inside.
Swallowing, I pluck it free.
For you, my queen
Despite how busy he must be today, getting everything ready for the ball, he took a moment out of his day to write to me. That damn smile twitches at my lips again. And this time, a giddiness fills me too.
Shaking my head, I put the card back. Who’s to say it’s even his handwriting? I’ve never seen it before. He probably had the shroomist do it.
Walking away from the gifts, I stop in front of one of the windows.
The tree’s basked in the soft glow of dusk.
Despite living my entire life in the forest, my breath still catches at how gorgeous this time of day is.
When the sun caresses the landscape, like a lover telling it good night.
But not good bye. Never good bye. An I’ll see you in the morning.
Such brilliant hope those rays bring. Such soft kisses of light.
Turning back to the coffee table, I chew my lip.
The beauty of Aurelia’s Library comes back to me. The way Jace said her name.
Hope.
Such bloody hope fills me.
Walking back to the table, I reach for the box. I tug the bow free, lift off the lid, and gasp.
Another handwritten card stares back at me, and it is, without a doubt, his.
These are for you.
Choose to wear them or not,
but the toy is non-negotiable.
Swallowing, I place the card on the table and lift out the dark-purple dress inside. It unfolds with whispers of sin and promises. Two thick black belts wrap around its middle, and sewn into its black corset is a galaxy of amethysts.
I suck in a ragged breath as I hold it up to my chest. It definitely wasn’t Nicholas who picked this one out. Looking back in the box, I pull out the shoes – black strappy heels with amethyst studs. My size.
But it’s the jewellery that snags my attention.
A leather choker necklace with the symbol of Raza in the middle: a raven killing a snake in its talons.
Matching earrings with dark-purple gemstones making up the snake’s body sit next to three black bangles and a ring.
These aren’t the sort of gifts you give someone you plan on executing.
They’re what you give your wife.
“My queen.”
Fingering the amethysts in the choker, I imagine what a future here could be like. Toe-curling, hot, and sexy for sure. But maybe also kind. And soft. And… loving.
With time perhaps.
Time I don’t have.
Sighing, I put everything back inside the box. I can’t wear any of this. The card catches my eye again, making me shiver. Especially not the toy.
I need room for the chillies.
Glancing at the clock, seeing I have only an hour to get ready thanks to my day-long moping session, I head for the bathroom. After a quick shower, I style my hair. Brush my teeth. Apply a bit of makeup. Naked, I walk through the sitting room. My eyes linger on the gifts. The card.
Hurrying into my bedroom, I grab a random dress Ajax’s daughter picked out for me: a lilac floor-length beauty with a low back and with slits running up the thighs. After pulling it over my head, I slip on a pair of black stilettos, then make my way into the sitting room.
Over to the box.
My fingers trail once more over the choker.
With a shaky breath, I lift the piece out of the box. After a moment’s hesitation, I place it around my neck. Then I thread the earrings on because it’ll be a sin if they’re not worn together.
Looking down, I realise that the dress he sent me would be a much better match with the jewellery than what I have on. Trying to fight it, I walk back to the closet. Surely, there is another black dress I can wear. But none of them have the same feel of power and sin and… love as what’s in the box.
Blowing out a breath, I find myself back at the coffee table. Then I find myself in the dress he sent me, and oh, bugger, it fits like a glove.
Like we could fit together if he’d just give us a chance.
Shaking my head, I reach up to take the dress off again. It’s too much, playing wife to a husband who doesn’t want me. It’s too cruel.
But right as I start to pull the first sleeve off, the door to my suite opens.
Without a knock.
Without a request to come in.
And I know without turning around, that it’s him.