Chapter 10
Ten
A queen doesn’t just understand that there will always be casualties. She uses them to her advantage.
She cannot die.
- King Richard
Stepping over the debris, I make my way into my bedroom.
Holes from tossed knives mar the walls. The bed frame sags, its splintered pieces stabbing the floor.
One of its posts is lodged into the ceiling, with little flakes of wood in a pile beneath it.
Jace kicked it up there after I threw it at him.
Crossing the room, I open the door at the far end. I head inside. The light comes on, a soft red glow that still leaves the place mostly in the dark.
Walking over to the whips lining the wall on my right, I pull one off and stretch it between my hands. The muscles on my back tighten. My knuckles turn white.
I could’ve lost her today.
Jace could’ve seen the bomb too late. I could’ve been too far away from my queen, talking to one of the Dragons of Kholar. A piece of shrapnel could’ve torn into her skull. And tomorrow, I’ll be using her as half-bait, half-shield.
Smacking the whip against my palm, I bask in the pain. I look at the restraints hanging on the adjacent wall, then at the sex swing hanging from the ceiling.
Tied up and at my mercy, Arienna might be bloody and bruised, but she’d be safe.
I could keep her in here while I attend to my kingly duties. I’ll reinforce the door, add a bed…
The whip slaps against my palm hard. A growl escapes my lips, welcoming the pain.
I could’ve lost her today!
Yet, I’m still expected to be at dinner tonight. To pretend with the ladies and lords that everything is fine – a show of strength, a silent ‘fuck you’, a dare for our enemies to try again. I’m expected to dine with the Vylian king and show our people that our treaty remains strong.
So I need to get showered and changed. I have nobles to piss off. Threats to make – some subtly, some not so much.
But all I can fucking think about is how I almost lost her. How I might lose her still. Evangeline is good at her job, but if there is a member of the Court willing to start a coup just to kill me, then she isn’t safe by my side.
I smack the whip down harder, its sharp little claws tearing through my skin. Pain rips up my palm to my wrist.
The nobles can fucking wait, I decide. I have a wife to comfort and win back – or lock up, depending on how the next few hours go.
Glancing around the room, I stride over to the rack of toys. I realise there isn’t a toilet in here – just a shower. Although there’s one in the ensuite leading off my bedroom, there are too many windows in my main chambers.
Assassins could break through them just like they did before our wedding. I frown. They can also break through the door…
Perhaps I should lock Jace in here with her.
My eyes land on a black suction-cup dildo. Then they skirt around the other sex toys hanging from the walls and sitting on the many shelves – it’s enough to put a brownie’s market stall to shame.
Oh fuck no.
I promised her Jace could do one thing to her tonight. Although I trust him not to do anything behind my back, Arienna grew up in a sex cult. Monogamy is seen as a fetish there, and we haven’t yet had the exclusivity talk. We might be married, but married brownies fuck others all the time.
If I lock Jace in here with her for her protection, I’d have to cut off his cock. And his hands. And his tongue.
A smirk curls my lips.
Jace not being able to talk is tempting.
Shit. No. We’re only alive because he shouted at us to get down. And him having zero hands would really defeat his purpose for being in here with her.
Grabbing a clit vibrator, some padded black restraints, nipple clamps, and a tattoo wand, I start to turn for the door before going back to grab the suction cup dildo and lube. Jace’s cock isn’t going anywhere near her, but if she wants to be fucked in both holes at once, then so be it.
My hands full of awkward-to-carry items, I narrow my eyes on the closed door in front of me. Godsdammit. I have a habit of shutting them behind me – something that has saved my life more than once, but right now, it’s just adding to my frustration.
Breathing out, I snap my foot out at the door knob. The locking mechanism splinters under my heel, and the door bangs open so hard, it lodges into the wall. Figuring it’s just one more thing that needs fixing in a sea of mess, I head for the main door.
I kick it with my heel, and someone opens it from the outside. All of my guards glance at the pile in my hands. No one says a word as they escort me to Arienna’s rooms. King Dravr and his wife arrive right as I get there. He stares at the toys as his steps falter.
“I’m not going to be at dinner tonight,” I inform him. “Prince Nicholas will take my place. Any deals you make with him will be upheld.”
He inclines his head. “Tory Deirdre – I would like her services for free; resurrecting our people will go a long way to soothing the anger born from today.”
“Done. I will speak to her myself. Later.” I nod at one of Arienna’s guards. She opens the door, and I step inside as the Vylian king and queen are shown to their rooms a few doors down.
Entering, I look at Marrabel. She’s standing at attention, with no emotions in her eyes. Jace is in the kitchenette. The doors to my wife’s rooms are closed, and I want to snap at them for not being in there with her.
But I don’t. Because I trust my head of security to guard her like he would me. If he’s out here, then that means Fabia is still in there.
“Raychel is bringing your sister back,” I say as I stop to take a moment with Marrabel.
Hope flickers in her gaze for a second before she clamps it down. “Is she alive?”
“I don’t know.”
She jerks her head in a nod. Her lips part, but just then, one of the sliding doors opens behind her. Arienna steps out of her bedroom, followed by Fabia.
My entire attention now on my wife, I say, “Everyone out but Jace. Marrabel, tell Nicholas to assume the rest of my duties today. You’re to stay with him.” I know she needs to not be alone right now. If word comes back about her sister, Nicholas will relieve her immediately.
As the two women leave, Arienna steps up to me. Her eyes are on my face rather than the toys, and I do not like the questions there. “Don’t you… want to talk first?”
“No.” I cross over to the sitting area and dump everything on the coffee table before turning back to face her.
“You’re hurt!” she exclaims, her eyes on my legs. Then she darts into the ensuite.
“I’m fine,” I say as I walk after her. I don’t want a fucking wand right now. I just want her.
“No, you’re not!” She comes out with a healing wand.
“Arienna.”
“Turn around and drop your trousers.” Her eyes are screwed up, telling me she’s serious.
The tightness in my chest eases. If she cares this much over a flesh wound, perhaps she isn’t wanting to run from me. Yet.
Pushing that nagging, horrible voice aside, I hold her gaze as I undo the buckle on my belt.
Her cheeks heat, nearly matching the colour of her hair and eyes. But she doesn’t put the wand down. She needs to care for me right now, perhaps just as much as I need her. Pulling out my belt, I then toss it at her feet.
Her lips part as her breathing gets heavier.
I slowly lower my trousers.
Stepping out of them, I turn to the side so she can see the cut clearly. It’s a clean slice, not very deep. I got hit by a sharp projectile rather than stabbed. With a flick of the wand and a murmured, “Iactus,” she heals me quickly.
As soon as my skin weaves back together, I’m on her.
My left hand grabs her throat as my right arm bands around her lower back.
She gasps as she falls against me, her hands splaying across my chest. A heavy exhale leaves her lips and flows into me as I drink it down. Make it mine. Bind our souls together.
She pushes against me, trying to pull away. Kissing her deeply, I tighten my hand around her throat. I don’t want to hear her questions right now. About Saragese or the other people at the market. I don’t want her asking me how I deal with all the screaming. If I’m okay.
We can talk after, but not now. Not when I can still see her dead at the market or in the crowd, looking at me with so much hatred. Not when Aurelia’s death rings so freshly, her suicide sitting heavily on my shoulders, forewarning of a repeat of the past. Of a ruined future. A failed promise.
“You remember our safe word?” I ask roughly, my lips rubbing against hers.
“I think we shou–”
“Not now.” I crush my mouth over hers, swallowing her every word, every protest, every thought to talk before I fuck her back into loving me. Into staying here in Raza as my queen, no matter how bad it gets.
I push my tongue into her mouth. She stays still for only a second before joining in on a moan. As our tongues dance together, I trail my hand down her throat to her breast and squeeze. She arches into my palm as her arms link around my neck.
By the time I pull back, she’s as breathless as I.
“What’s the safe word?” I ask again.
“Peace treaty.” She leans in for another kiss, but I lean back.
“And what are the three colours?”
“Green, yellow, and red.”
I dodge her lips, and the cutest little pout graces her.
“What do they mean?”
“I know what they mean.” Frustration laces her words, causing me to smile.
Another chunk of the tension eases from my shoulders. “Humour me,” I say softly.
She exhales loudly, and I dig my fingers into her hips just to stop myself from pulling her close and kissing her like she wants.
Looking into her eyes, I don’t see a trace of fear.
It almost makes me willing to entertain the idea of talking with her before I fuck her.
But then she’s dropping her hand to my rock-hard cock, and she squeezes all such thoughts out of my head.
“Green means I’m totally good.” She rubs her palm down my length, her heated eyes on mine. She wraps her fingers around my tip. “Yellow means it’s getting hard.”