Chapter 76 Lucian
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Lucian
A week in Veyndral had changed everything.
The council had convened three days after our arrival.
Councilman Iver had stood and said, “The woman cured our people, defeated the Order, and carries the king’s heirs. If anyone objects, they may take it up with Lord Farmon’s very detailed report.”
Nobody objected.
Mira’s name was entered into the royal registry. Solomon and Percival were formally recognized as royal consorts, a title that carried legal standing in Veyndral. It has been a while since the last polyamorous bond recognized by the council. We were apparently reviving traditions.
The coronation was tonight.
“This corset is trying to kill me.”
Mira stood in front of the full-length mirror in the royal dressing chamber, twisting sideways, one hand braced on the glass frame and the other tugging at the structured bodice of her coronation gown.
“It fit two days ago,” she said. “Your children are already rebels.”
“The lacing can be loosened.” I crossed the room and stood behind her. In the mirror, her copper hair was half-pinned, strands falling around her face. The obsidian pendant sat at the base of her throat, dark against flushed skin. Her mismatched eyes found mine in the reflection.
“Help me with the back?”
I gathered the lacing between my fingers.
“Breathe out,” I said.
She exhaled. My fingers worked the lacing looser, one eyelet at a time, and the fabric gave. Her shoulders dropped with relief.
“Better?”
“Marginally. I still feel wrapped in a straitjacket.”
“You look like a queen.”
“I look swollen.”
“You look like my queen.” I met her eyes in the mirror. “Carrying my heirs. In my kingdom. Wearing my colors.”
“Possessive.”
Solomon appeared from the side chamber. He’d been dressing in the adjoining room and emerged in his formal attire. Silver clasps at his throat marked his new rank.
He assessed Mira’s corset situation.
“The lower panel needs releasing. The boning is pressing on the bump.”
“I know where the bump is, Solomon. It’s inside me.”
He stepped behind her, beside me, and his hands found the panel beneath the lacing. Fingers pressed along the seam, found the pressure point, and released it.
Mira sighed as the fabric released. “How did you know how to do that?”
“I asked the seamstress.”
“You interrogated my seamstress about corsets?”
“I requested technical specifications.”
Mira laughed. In the mirror, the three of us stood framed in candlelight. My hands on her lacing. Solomon’s on the panel beneath. Her body between us, the midnight gown pooling at her feet, her throat bared by the half-pinned hair, the pendant catching light with each breath.
She went quiet. Her eyes moved across the reflection.
“We look good,” she said softly.
We did.
Solomon’s hand was still on the corset panel. My fingers still held the lacing. In the mirror, his silver eyes met mine over her shoulder, and the question passed between us without words.
“The ceremony isn’t for two hours,” I said.
“Don’t start,” Mira warned.
“I’m stating a fact.”
“You have an agenda.”
Solomon’s thumb moved. A single stroke along the corset’s lower edge, tracing the curve of her waist where the fabric met skin. Mira’s breath stuttered.
“Solomon.”
“The panel is misaligned. I’m adjusting.”
“That’s not adjusting.”
“No,” he agreed. His mouth found the crook of her neck below her ear. “It’s not.”
The sound she made was involuntary, barely audible, and sent my blood south with the speed of a command. Solomon’s lips dragged down her throat, slow, deliberate, and in the mirror I watched her eyes flutter shut and her head tip back against his shoulder.
My hands abandoned the lacing. Slid forward, around her waist, palms settling on the bump where our children grew. Mira’s hand covered mine. Her other reached back, fingers threading into Solomon’s hair, pulling him closer to her neck.
“The dress,” she managed. “We just fixed the dress.”
“We’ll fix it again,” I said against her temple.
“The ceremony...”
“Two hours.”
Solomon’s hand traveled from the corset panel to her hip, gripping through the layers of fabric, pulling her back against his body. His mouth moved from her neck to the claiming mark on the left side of her throat.
Her knees buckled.
I caught her. One arm around her waist, the other braced against the mirror’s frame, holding her upright while Solomon took her apart from behind.
I turned her. Positioned her facing the full-length glass, my chest against her back, Solomon stepping to the side to work the corset lacing free with urgency that bordered on violent.
The gown loosened and he pushed it off her shoulders, the midnight fabric sliding down her arms, pooling at her waist.
Her reflection stared back at us. Copper hair falling loose. Bare from the waist up except for the obsidian pendant between her breasts. The swell of her belly, undeniably present. Solomon’s hands on her ribs from behind me. My mouth on her shoulder.
“Look at you,” I murmured against her skin. “Look at what’s mine.”
“Ours,” Solomon corrected. His voice was wrecked, barely above a whisper, and his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs dragging across her nipples, and she arched into the touch with a moan that I felt in my spine.
“Ours,” I conceded.
Mira watched in the mirror as Solomon’s hands moved down her body. His fingers hooked the gown at her waist and pushed it lower, past her hips, until it pooled at her feet and she stood in nothing but the pendant and the claiming mark on her throat.
My mouth pressed to the mark. My tongue traced the scar and she shuddered, her ass pressing back against my cock.
“Lucian.” My name, breathless.
Solomon dropped to his knees behind her.
His mouth found the small of her back, tracing down her spine while his hands gripped her thighs, spreading them.
In the mirror, I watched his silver head descend, watched Mira’s lips part, watched her hand fly back to grip his hair as his mouth found her from behind.
“Oh God.” Her voice cracked. “Sol...”
His tongue moved through her folds from behind, devastatingly thorough, and I held her upright because her legs were shaking.
My hand found her jaw, tilting her face to mine, and kissed her while Solomon worked her open with his mouth.
She moaned into my kiss, the sound vibrating through my chest, and I swallowed it whole.
My free hand reached down, fingers finding her clit from the front while Solomon’s tongue pushed inside her from behind.
I rubbed slow circles over that swollen nub, feeling it throb under my touch as Mira broke the kiss to cry out. Her body stayed trapped between us, my fingers working her clit with steady pressure and Solomon’s mouth devouring her from behind, his tongue thrusting deep into her dripping pussy.
“Watch,” I told her. “The mirror.”
Her eyes opened. In the glass, she saw herself. Flushed, trembling, held upright by a king’s arm while his enforcer knelt behind her with his face between her legs. Three claiming mark visible on her throat. The pendant swinging with each gasp.
“You see that?” I grazed my mouth to her ear. “That’s my queen.”
Solomon pulled back just long enough to say, “Our queen,” before his mouth returned to her folds. He sucked on her clit now, his tongue flicking fast and Mira’s knees gave out entirely. She sagged against me, her cries turning into desperate moans that echoed off the walls.
My fingers sped up on her clit, pinching lightly then soothing with firm strokes, drawing out more of those sweet sounds from her. “Your Majesty-”
Solomon’s hands gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them wider as he licked a long stripe from her entrance to her clit, then plunged his tongue back inside. He hummed against her, the vibration making her buck wildly.
In the mirror, I watched her face contort in bliss, her lips parted, eyes locked on the reflection of us claiming her.
“Mira,” Solomon rasped when he came up for air, his chin slick with her arousal. “You taste like heaven.” He dove back in, two fingers joining his tongue now, curling inside her to hit that spot that made her scream.
Her body shook between us, pleasure building fast. I held her tight, my other arm banded across her chest, thumb brushing one hardened nipple through her thin gown.
“You’re doing so well,” I praised, kissing down her neck. “Look at yourself in that mirror. See how we pleasure you. I want you to come for us.”
She shattered then, her pussy clenching around Solomon’s fingers as waves of ecstasy ripped through her.
Her cries filled the room, raw and uninhibited, and I watched every second in the mirror: her head thrown back against my shoulder, thighs quivering, the three of us connected in this heated bond.
I caught her as she slumped, lifting her effortlessly into my arms. She was light, precious, her swollen belly a reminder of the life we protected even in this frenzy.
I carried her to the chaise beside the mirror, laying her on her back with care, positioning her at the edge so her legs dangled, giving us full access to her glistening core.
Solomon was already unfastening his trousers, his movements urgent. His cock sprang free, veins pulsing along its length. Mira’s hand reached for him on instinct, wrapping around his shaft with a firm grip that made his jaw clench tight.
She stroked him slow at first, then faster, her thumb circling the head to spread that slickness, and Solomon’s silver eyes blazed with gold at the edges, his breath coming in harsh pants.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, hips twitching into her hand. “You know exactly how to touch me, Your Highness.”
The title seemed to turn her on even more.
I knelt between her thighs, spreading them wider with my hands on her soft inner skin. Her pussy looked so inviting, pink and swollen from Solomon’s attentions, juices coating her folds.