8. Chapter 8
eight
T horne
From the heights of my throne, I peer into the shimmering depths of the crystal ball atop my staff, The swirling mist within reveals Brielle, her stubborn spirit flickering like the flames of the fire she now huddles beside. A low chuckle escapes my lips, rich and dark, echoing through the hollow chamber of my quarters.
She finally gives in to her defiance, succumbing to her primal needs. What truly piques my interest is Grom, the troll I’ve kept under my thumb, his meekness a trait I’ve learned to tolerate. Yet, in the presence of Brielle, he blossoms like a flower in the darkness, bold and defiant. His words ring through the crystal, imbued with an unexpected sharpness. Perhaps I’ve been too harsh, too quick to scold the loyal troll. There’s a spark within him that shines brighter when he’s with her; a glimpse of potential I hadn’t anticipated. I lean closer, intrigued, as the dynamic between them unfolds. Grom’s usual quiet demeanor gives way to something more vibrant, more alive. It’s as if Brielle brings out a part of him long buried beneath layers of fear and submission. How amusing to witness the power she holds, even unwittingly, over the hearts and minds of those I’ve ensnared within my maze.
“A queen,” I murmur, my voice a low rumble of amusement and admiration. “She will be the light to my dark, the balance this maze has needed.”
Yet, a flicker of unease stirs in my chest, a reminder that I am a king first and foremost, a ruler of shadows and whispers, not a friend to the likes of Grom It is my duty to command, to lead, not to indulge in the warm comforts of camaraderie. A king does not make friends; he makes choices, sacrifices, and difficult decisions. The maze requires that of me, just as it demands submission from those who dwell within its winding paths.
The crow lands with a soft rustle above me on my throne, I allow a small smile to tilt the corner of my mouth, a fleeting moment of pleasure amidst the shadows that envelop me. My gaze drifts to the crystal ball, where Brielle’s image flickers, radiant and defiant. I can almost feel the warmth of the fire she huddles beside, yet what truly envelops me is the warmth of her beauty from such a distance; a bittersweet balm and a torturous reminder of what I cannot have. This longing has become my agony, a relentless ache in my chest. My hands itch to caress the tears glistening on her cheeks, to taste the salt of her sorrow on my lips. She perceives me as her enemy now, a role I will gladly embrace for her. I will be the monster she needs to unearth her strength, to help her discover the fierce spirit buried beneath her layers of fear. Make no mistake, she is mine, and it is this truth that grants me the patience to endure, even as that patience wears thin with each passing day.
The knowledge that she is within my maze heightens the struggle within me, making it agonizingly difficult to resist the urge to reach out. My mind thinks back to how many nights I have sung her to sleep, wishing desperately that she could curl up in my arms, feeling safe and cherished. The ache of that desire gnaws at me, a hunger that cannot be sated by mere observation.
I remind myself; she will have it all. I will ensure that she rises from this darkness, transformed and unbreakable. But until then, she must endure this suffering. It is a necessary path, one that will forge her into the formidable queen I know she can become. In the depths of my heart, I believe in her resilience; I believe she will prevail.
With a subtle wave of my hand, Brielle’s image flickers away from the glass, leaving me alone with my own reflection. The darkness of my eyes stares back, an abyss filled with secrets. The black horns that crown my head twist ominously, sharp points slicing through the dim light, while the elongated, pointed tips of my ears catch the flickering glow. My obsidian gaze is cold and unyielding, a reminder of the monster I am. Will she ever accept me? The thought lingers nagging at me..
From his cage, Henry must sense my insecurity as he picks at the meager scraps thrown to him tonight, his voice dripping with disdain. "You’re a monster. She’ll be disgusted by you," he spits, venom lacing his words. “You’re nothing but a vile creature.”
I stand, ready to retreat into my bed, but before I do, I take a deliberate step toward his cage. My voice drops to a low growl as I reply, “You may think of me as a monster, but when I get my hands on your wife, she won’t think of you at all.”
Henry’s eyes widen, fury igniting within them like a wildfire. I continue, each word laced with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.
“She will be a changed woman, and you’ll be forced to witness every delicious moment. Just picture her striding in here, head held high, radiating a power she’s never dared to embrace; because she finally will. You’ll watch her claim her rightful place beside me on the throne I’m having specially crafted for her, fit for a queen. And oh, the best part: you’ll see her blossom into her confidence, eagerly riding my cock like the regal goddess she’s meant to be, taking her pleasure with every sultry bounce. Just imagine that sight, Henry; her lithe body moving with grace, your wife utterly transformed. The sheer envy on your face will be such a sight”
He wants to hurt me. Pathetic. I can see it in his beady little eyes, the way his fists clench like he's actually capable of something more than whining. It’s almost cute, watching him simmer in his own impotence, thinking he’s dangerous. But all I see is a joke—a sad, miserable excuse for a man who thinks glaring at me will somehow even the playing field. Like he’s worth more than the dirt beneath my boots. The fact that I could rip the flesh from his bones, string him up by his entrails, and still walk away without so much as breaking a sweat; that makes his pathetic attempts at intimidation downright comical. He’s not a threat, he’s a fucking bug waiting to be crushed. A joke, a pitiful jester, prancing around thinking he's more than nothing.The only thing funnier than his rage is how little it means to me.
I start to walk away, but of course, the little man with his pathetic delusions of grandeur has to open his mouth one last time. His voice cracks as he tries to sound threatening. "When I get out of here, and I will, I’ll tear you and your kingdom apart. You don’t deserve to—"
I’m on him before he can finish that worthless thought, faster than his brain can register. My hand snaps around his throat like a vice, squeezing until his breath becomes a weak, choking gurgle. His pathetic choking sounds fill the room as his face shifts through lovely shades of red, then purple. I lean in, my lips curling. "No, no, puppy," I snarl, leaning close so he can feel my breath on his skin. "It’s you who doesn’t deserve to breathe."
He’s gagging, clawing weakly at my wrist, eyes wide and bulging like a fish caught in the shallows. And I can’t help but laugh, dark and amused. “What was that? You wanted to speak, didn’t you, little man? Go on… bark for me, you worthless mutt."
I squeeze harder, feeling his pulse stutter beneath my fingers. His wide eyes are begging now; pleading for mercy he knows he’ll never get. His heels drum uselessly against the floor, and the room fills with the sound of liquid splattering the stone.
I look down. He pissed himself.
My laugh echoes through the chamber, cruel and loud. "Well, would you look at that. You really are a filthy little puppy, aren’t you?" Without warning, I yank him down, dragging him through the bars as I crouch. My hand never leaves his throat, pulling him down with me, "Such a naughty puppy."
I shove his face into the warm mess, pressing his nose into it like you would with a disobedient dog. "Go on, puppy. Lap it up. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Groveling in your own filth."
His muffled gags as I grind his face into the piss are like music to my ears. I release his throat just enough for him to suck in a desperate breath, but then I slam his head back down, harder this time. His face hits the floor with a sickening thud, and he inhales a lungful of piss-soaked air.
"Look at you," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Weren’t you just the one telling me how you were going to destroy my kingdom? My people! What’s the plan now?”
Finally, I let go, standing over him as he heaves and gags, coughing up his own filth. "Here’s a little reality check for you, puppy. The only reason you’re still breathing, the only reason your worthless heart is still beating, is because of her."
I lean in, my voice dropping to a mocking whisper. "She’s the only thing keeping you alive. And when she walks in here, strong, powerful, and absoluty stunning. You’ll watch her take her place beside me. You’ll watch as she becomes the queen she was always meant to be. And you?"
I stand up, looking down at him like the insect he is. "You’ll be nothing but the piss-soaked joke that she steps over on her way to the throne. So, enjoy that thought while you still have a few miserable breaths left."
As I walk away, I leave the door to my quarters open just wide enough so I can hear Henry’s pitiful gasps and curses echo down the hall. His cries are merely background noise, insignificant against the real vision that consumes me.
Brielle.
I strip off my tunic and sit on the edge of the bed, the weight of my desire for her pressing against my pants. I drop those to the floor as well. Henry’s cries only make my cock harder as it springs free, already dripping. Thick and twitching in my lap, I wrap my hands around my cock, fingers tightening, and I feel the surge of power rush through me. I picture her; Brielle, her fierce eyes burning with a fire that matches my own. My queen.
Henry’s voice breaks through the silence again, a hoarse, weak shout from his cage. “You’re a fucking monster!” he spits, his voice laced with desperation. I chuckle darkly, stroking absently. “ Oh, Henry, you haven’t even begun to understand the meaning of that word.”
I let my thoughts drift back to her, with her strength, her defiance, her beauty that haunts me. The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the stubborn set of her jaw when she stands against me. My hand moves faster, gripping my cock harder.
“Fuck, mmm.” I moan as I stroke faster, my grip tightening as my chest heaves with each breath. “Brielle,” I whisper, my voice thick with desire.
I imagine her here, straddling my lap, her hands on my shoulders, her lips just inches from mine. The fire in her eyes as she looks at me; equal parts hatred and desire, battling within her. She doesn’t know yet how much she craves what I can give her.
I picture the look on her beautiful face as she comes apart on my cock and I lose all control. I am stoking myself like a mad man, my hips driving forward into my hand.
“Yes, ahh..” My shuddered breathes and moans come out in short gasps as I feel my cock twitch in my hand. My muscles tense, my entire body flexing, my legs shooting out as I cum hard, the thick ropes covering my hand.
Grabbing the tunic, I wipe my hand clean as I sigh, the weight of longing pressing heavy against my chest. Soon, I tell myself. Soon, I won’t need to entertain myself with such pitiful displays. She will be here, with me; her fire, her resistance, her beauty, wrapped around me, not this sorry excuse for satisfaction.
That day is coming soon. She will know what it means to be worshiped. I lick my lips, imaging the taste of her on my tongue already. She will finally be mine, gods I hope she will have me.