Chapter 8
Demands and disputeS
LORIEN
In the end, I’d been forced to remove Jude from his bath, handing him a set of clothes and chaining him to the floor of my chamber. I could have tied him to my bed or the couch again, but he used the bath as an excuse to avoid me, and he needs to learn that actions have consequences.
He wasted my time. Our time.
So now he can be left with nothing to do, utterly bored, while I endure yet another audience with my court. Few things are as tedious as the endless parade of grievances, demands, and disputes, but such is the burden of ruling.
The throne room is already bustling by the time I arrive, the vaulted ceilings amplifying every whisper and murmur. My court, if it can even be called that, stands in loose clusters, their faces a mix of wary deference and thinly veiled ambition.
The light here comes from bioluminescent orbs suspended in crystalline chandeliers, casting a cold, shifting glow that dances along the obsidian floors and the intricate coral carvings lining the black stone on the walls.
This is my domain. My kingdom beneath the waves, a city built of bone and stone, coral and pearl.
It is beautiful, in its way, but the beauty is as deceptive as the creatures who inhabit it.
I move through the gathered throng, my presence parting them like a current. Conversations falter and eyes lower as I pass, but I can feel their whispers trailing in my wake. They all wonder what mood I’m in today, whether the king will be merciful or cruel.
I take my seat on the throne, a jagged structure carved from the spine of a sea dragon, its ridges sharp enough to draw blood. It is a relic of conquest, a reminder to my court of the price of defiance. As I settle into it, its familiar chill seeps through my skin.
Yesterday, Jude lay slumped on the floor beneath me, too exhausted and cold to do anything more than survive.
Today, I’m facing a line of petitioners that stretches to the far end of the hall, their faces a mix of hope and apprehension.
Soren sits on one side and my steward, Orlith, stands on the other.
I glance at the roll of parchment he’s holding and silently groan, aware this is going to be a long afternoon that is not as pleasant as it would be if my throne room were occupied by last night’s inhabitant.
“The first matter, Your Majesty, concerns the kelpies,” Orlith announces, his voice echoing through the chamber.
Of course, it does.
The kelpies are a problem.
They’ve always been a problem, even when Helena was alive to keep them under control.
“They have delayed their tribute. Again,” he continues. “This marks the third cycle they’ve failed to meet their obligations. They claim the waters of their seas have grown barren.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And have they offered any proof of this claim?”
“No, Your Majesty. They have, however, proposed an alternative arrangement.”
A ripple of unease moves through the court. I can feel it, like the subtle shift of a current before a storm.
“Tell me, Orlith.”
“They seek to renegotiate their pact,” he says, his voice tight. “They propose greater autonomy over the southern waterways in exchange for a reduced tribute.”
A murmur spreads through the room, and my fingers tighten on the armrest of my throne. The kelpies grow bolder with each passing year. They think themselves untouchable in their murky, storm-churned seas, their alliances with other water-dwelling creatures emboldening them to defy me.
They tried before and almost succeeded, and it was Helena who negotiated their reprieve from annihilation.
This time, there is no one to defend them.
I lean back on my throne, considering. The kelpies have always been slippery, their loyalty as shallow as the waters they inhabit.
This latest defiance is not born of desperation.
It is a test, a calculated move to see how far they can push me.
To see if I’ll take the bait and respond, or perhaps even invite them to my capital.
Last night they came for Jude, and now he’s here. Under my protection. I’ll bet all the gold in my vaults they’re still after him now, and I’d be a fool to allow them to get close to him.
Not until I understand how Helena’s power is bound within him, and have him bound to me.
That human is becoming more important by the second.
He’s the last blood relative of my enemy.
That alone should be reason enough to keep him at arm’s length, to use him as a tool and nothing more.
Helena was a thorn in my side for decades.
Her death should have been a triumph, but it left behind a puzzle I have yet to solve, and she’s stolen my victory from me in her ultimate act.
She’s placed a fragment or more of her power in her nephew, and that power feels as volatile as it does untapped.
Jude is nothing like her.
And yet, no matter how hard I try, I cannot stop thinking about him.
He’s not her, and I should just take her power from him and use him for my pleasure. I’ve had little compunction about taking it from others, and I’ve enjoyed it in more ways than one. I’ve had thousands of fleeting intimacies, but few that lasted long and even less had any meaning.
His defiance, his stubbornness, the way he looks at me as though he sees all my power and prestige and refuses to submit. It infuriates me. It fascinates me.
It makes me fucking hard, and I want to find out where that could lead.
“Your Majesty?” Soren interrupts.
“Soren?” I reply, casually glancing over as if he hadn’t just interrupted my thoughts as they were drifting toward something much more interesting than this afternoon’s audience.
“The kelpies?” he sighs.
“I was considering the matter,” I muse, as if I was truly weighing up what I was going to do with the damn creatures.
“It seems unwise to give in to their demands so quickly, and even less wise to invite them here to discuss it. Tell their leaders I’ll consider their proposal, but make it clear that the tribute must be paid, and further delays won’t be tolerated.
If they continue to defy me, they will learn the cost of insolence. ”
My claws grip the arms of my throne as I contemplate how I’m going to teach that lesson to Jude.
“Shall we move on, Sire?” Orlith asks.
I nod and wave a hand, waiting for one of the collection of attendees to shuffle forward.
A young mermaid approaches, her translucent fins shimmering like fractured moonlight in the bioluminescent glow of the throne room.
She hesitates before me, wringing her hands as though they might somehow shield her from my displeasure.
“Speak,” I command, my voice sharp enough to send a ripple through the room.
She bows low, her hair fanning out like an auburn veil in the water. “Your Majesty, I come on behalf of the fishermen of Coralspire. The reefs are failing. We humbly request your aid. To restore them.”
“Failing?”
My tone remains neutral, though my interest is piqued.
Coralspire lies at the northern edge of my waters, far from the influence of the kelpies.
Their coral is robust and if the reefs are dying, something serious is happening.
It suggests either the kelpies’ reach is further than I believed possible, or that we may be facing more than one threat in the ocean.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she says quickly, emboldened by my lack of immediate rebuke.
She flicks her long reddish hair and starts to ramble, talking about the decline of her reefs and the shadows that lurk there.
It’s all very dull. Very tedious. She’s fluttering her eyelashes and pouting, heaving as she speaks to make herself more attractive.
The mermaid is my usual type, too. Pretty, with curves in all the right places, and an innocent veneer that hides a filthy mind underneath it.
The girl is flirting with me, presumably in the hope I’ll take a shine to her. It’s not a bad tactic, and I can be a generous lover, at least when I want to be. But I have no interest in pursuing her, no matter how attractive I might normally find her.
“We’ll send a team of scouts,” I say, turning to Orlith.
He stares up at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind.
“They can investigate and send a full report on the state of the reefs. In the meantime, we’ll send some assistance of some kind.”
The mermaid bows deeply, gratitude laced with disappointment written across her delicate features.
I dismiss her with a wave, and another petitioner steps forward—a grizzled triton with a scar running the length of his face. He launches into a dispute about territorial waters, but my focus drifts.
My thoughts keep circling back to Jude.
He’s chained in my chambers, likely seething with anger at being stripped of his freedom once more. I can almost see him now, with his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing with that fiery defiance that refuses to be extinguished.
The memory of his lips, his skin, the way he arches when he’s pushed to his limits… the way he responds so perfectly to me, and me alone. It makes me want to push him more, to fuck him even though he isn’t ready.
And that’s before I even started thinking about his cock.
It’s perfect. Too damn perfect. Hard and symmetrical, with just the perfect curve on it. I’ve seen a lot of cock, and I’ve never seen one so beautiful, and I’m practically shuddering at the thought of playing with it.
He should be kneeling at my feet. By sheer damn rights, I should have him chained to my fucking throne and sitting beneath me.
Right now, I should be gazing down at him and that perfect cock of his, and instead he’s chained in my room because he’s too damn stubborn.
Too human to accept everything I’m offering him and what he truly wants, fighting when he should be acquiescing.
Jude will fight if I bring him to court, and I can’t afford the disobedience. Not because it’ll hurt me, but because it’ll force me to punish him. Publicly. Severely. And I don’t think he’ll forgive me for it.