Chapter XXXI Rule
XXXI Rule
He presses his full palm to my mound and rubs, then pulls away and works it in with one finger, gently coating the inside of my pussy with his seed.
My heart beats fast, and my knees tremble.
I can’t help it. I’m aroused, and I hate my own weakness so much right now.
When I can’t contain a sob of frustration, Magnar smiles.
He buries another finger inside me and angles his palm so the heel presses to my clit.
“Move, love. Unless it’s too much.”
I shake my head and begin to haltingly rock my hips. Yes, it’s just enough. Even better, I can kiss him when I stand and he’s on his knees, so we lock lips, my husband purring from pleasure as he slowly brings me to my peak.
“There you go. Just like this,” he murmurs when I orgasm, making pitiful sounds of bliss. “Good wife, coming so nicely while she drips with my cum. Come here, pet. Rest with me.”
No sooner than I settle in his lap, the knights file into the bathroom, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Arvi gives us a mumbled hello and goes over to piss while Khay gurgles some water by the washbasin, and Raduna stands by the tub, executing a half-hearted salute.
“The room is airing and the staff are bringing in new sheets. I allowed myself to ask for breakfast to be brought here for us all.”
“Bless you,” Magnar grunts, pulling me closer when I look around, wide-eyed and curious. “Caliane needs to rest. I suggest we all use today to get some strength back. I need to write my loathsome letters and talk to my ministers.”
“What letters?” I ask, peeking surreptitiously when Arvi and Khay exchange places with sleepy murmurs. It’s Khay’s turn to splash into the toilet.
All my knights are naked, naked, naked. Somehow, it’s so much more indecent in the light of day. Also, no one is aroused. Their cocks hang heavy, swinging with no clothing to restrict them. It’s all so… domestic. This is masculinity with its hair down, and it’s riveting.
“You’ll sprain your neck, pet. Turn around. And as for the letters, well, just one. I need to ascertain my claim at the Table of Kings. I’ve tried to write it for days. Makes my head hurt.”
“Can I help?” I ask. “I received lessons in royal correspondence, and my writing hand is neat and elegant. I’ll be of use.”
Magnar snorts, and Khay gives me an odd look, his hair disheveled and sticking out in all directions.
“Love, you don’t have to present your qualifications,” my husband says with amusement. “Of course, you can help. I bet you’re better at this than all of us combined.”
“He’s been trying to rope us into helping for days,” Khay says with disgust. “And you just offered so artlessly. Next time ask for something in return, my lady. Be more cunning.”
I shrug. “What would I even ask for? I have everything.”
Khay presses his hand to his chest with a flamboyant gesture. “Oh, my heart! Did you hear that? She has everything. Don’t know about you, but it just makes me want to spoil her with gifts and stuff. You’re too sweet, diamond.”
“More importantly, you don’t have to do chores to get what you want,” Magnar says tersely. “So don’t even suggest it, Khay. Whatever you ask for, pet, we shall provide. Now, I need to wash, because we’ve just soaked so far. Hand me the soap?”
There are a few bars resting on the lip of the tub, and I smell them in turns, finally picking the one that reminds me of forest and spices, a warm, clean scent. Magnar’s eyes are creased with pleasure when I offer it to him.
“That’s the one you want your husband to smell of?” he purrs. “Maybe you’d like to do the honors?”
He spreads his arms on the lip of the tub, offering himself to me, and I hiccup from surprise.
Oh, gods, I want to. Slowly, I soap up my hands, studying him as I wonder where to start.
I glide my palms down his throat and chest, flinching away with a giggle the first time his muscles jump under my touch.
When I wash his armpits, Magnar snorts with laughter.
His stomach tenses in a beautiful display.
“You’re ticklish,” I say with wonder. “I’d never suspect it.”
“My feet are the worst,” he admits through a cute snuffle as I tease him some more. “But careful, pet. If you have your fun now, I’ll have mine later. I’ll wash you, too. Dirty, dirty girl.”
“Gods, must you do it first thing in the morning?” Arvi grumbles, palming his rising erection. “I’ve fainted enough already.”
“It’s afternoon,” Raduna rumbles with amusement. It’s his turn at the toilet, and Khay is washing in the corner where a large basin stands over a tiled area with a drain.
Magnar groans. “No, I really have to get going. Will be listening to fucking reports for hours. I forgot how much I hate this part.”
I tickle him one last time and grin when he cringes away, covering himself like a bashful maiden.
“But isn’t that what being king is all about? My father spent most of his time in meetings, listening to reports on agriculture, trade, suggestions for changes in law, amber import, all kinds of things.”
Magnar throws his head back with a long huff. Khay comes over, toweling himself off as he crouches by the tub with his arms folded on the edge right by my side.
“He enjoys being a martial king,” he says with glee.
“The kind who goes to war, makes conquests, gets to swing his sword. Of course, he does the other parts well enough, but he hates it. Magnar would much rather keep conquering the continent until he dies, and leave his heirs the chore of managing his empire.”
“We have a bet going,” Arvi adds from the washing corner. “I say he’ll go to war again in two years, seeing as he’ll want to stay home for your first pregnancy and raise his kid. Khay says a year and a half.”
I frown and look away, my chest tightening with grief. A year and a half. That’s an awfully short time to enjoy my new life that I already love. This morning is only a glimpse of our future together, and even though I’m sore and achy, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
“I won’t,” Magnar says urgently, cupping my cheek. “Look at me, beloved. I won’t go to war again. I’ll find other ways to satisfy my violent nature in times of peace. And if you help me handle the burdens of ruling, I’m sure I won’t hate it.”
“Help you?” I frown, taken aback. “Help you how?”
He takes the soap from my hands and answers, running his lathered hands down my arms.
“However you like. You can listen to those reports with me first, and then, maybe handle some areas on your own. Trade, honey export, diplomatic relations—take your pick. I keep the army and military matters to myself, but the rest is yours if you want it.”
I snort, certain this must be a joke. Magnar’s eyes narrow as he studies my face, and Raduna clears his throat.
“I’m sure you must remember, my king, that only men sit at the Table of Kings. Queens usually occupy themselves with charity work and running balls.”
“Barbaric,” Magnar scoffs. “You’ll sit at that table with me, love, no matter what those old fuckers say to that. I’m not facing them on my own.”
I squeak when he lifts my arm and washes my armpit, tickling me with a mean smile. My mind is reeling, and his playful assault only makes it worse until I can’t control myself.
“But I’m not fit to rule!” I explode, snatching my arm away. “I know precious little about your country, and I don’t even speak your language! Also, I’m a woman. No one will respect me at the Table of Kings, and your people probably hate me because I’m human!”
Magnar laughs, cupping my cheek with affection, and I snap my teeth at him, exasperated. That, of course, only makes him laugh harder.
“See, Khay? I don’t have to go to war. I have my wife to wrestle, and another fight on my hands.
We’ll make them accept you at the Table of Kings, start calling it the Table of Queens and Kings.
As for my people, we’ll show them you’re the best thing that ever happened to Roharra.
You’ll learn everything you need. We have time. ”
I shake my head dubiously, a pit of anxiety opening in my stomach. “You’re having horrendously high expectations of me, and I will inevitably fail you. I’m sorry.”
Magnar shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Sure, you’ll fuck up. Everyone does. But love, only people who never do anything avoid failure. I’m convinced you will achieve great things, and that’s enough for me.”
He grins seeing the grimace of disgust on my face, and rubs my cheeks until my expression calms.
“You’re telling me you expect me to fail and succeed at the same time,” I say, shaking my head.
“Mmm. I’m giving you permission to fail over and over without punishment or repercussions. In my books, as long as you keep trying after you screw up, you’re winning. Can you consider this perspective?”
I’m not sure, but I nod, and Magnar nods back. “Perfect.”
He grabs my breasts in his soapy palms, and I gasp as he thumbs my nipples. Arvi groans from where he stands by the washbasin, where he’s brushing his teeth.
“You said she was supposed to rest,” Khay complains.
“What’s more restful than a bath and massage? Right, pet?”
I moan as he rolls my nipples between his fingers, the slipperiness of the soap making the experience delightful. Still, I shake my head. Magnar stops with a sigh, rinsing off the soap without further shenanigans.
“Forgive me. I’m just trying to put off donning my crown, but it’s no use, eh? If I want my queen to thrive, her kingdom must thrive, too. All right, I’m getting out. You soak a bit more. You deserve it after last night.”
I finish washing and ask Raduna to help me get out.
Soon, I am dressed and eating with all my men.
We’re sprawled around the table, lounging on ottomans and cushions, and it’s quiet and peaceful.
I don’t hurt as much thanks to the bath, and they keep yawning, even Arvi, who spent much of the night unconscious, from what they say.