Chapter 30
Tynan
I’ve paced my bed chamber so many times I’m shocked there isn’t a groove worn into the floorboards. I can’t sleep. Thoughts of Rosomon prevent it—thoughts that alternate between lust, love and terror.
One moment I’m envisioning holding our first babe in my arms, the next I’m creating that babe, and then suddenly I’m imagining the horrors she could be facing in the Darkness.
I trust Zogar to keep her safe. I do. The dragon-shifter might not love her, but he values her. He considers protecting her his duty, and he’ll do whatever he can to keep her from harm.
Imagining my love spending so much time with Zogar brings up both jealousy and more lust-filled thoughts.
Bending forward to grip my knees, I draw long breaths to banish the envy.
It won’t serve me. And more than anything, I want her to be safe and happy and can only hope that Zogar will do both.
He certainly gave a vivid demonstration of how well he can give her pleasure.
Straightening, I start pacing again. Perhaps if I concentrate on Rosomon taking that dragon’s cock, I’ll eventually bring myself to a point of relaxation and slumber.
I jump onto the bed and lean back against its familiar headboard, carved with the crest of Khotor. At least some pieces of furniture in this castle remain unaltered. And since the day I was named heir, my furnishings and clothing have returned to the luxury I was accustomed to in the past.
Closing my eyes, I picture Rosomon’s bright smile, her brave heart, the scent of her soft skin. My mouth waters as I imagine the taste of her cleft, slick with sweet arousal. Instantly hard, I lift my sleeping tunic, free my cock and grasp it in my hand.
Slowly, I stroke myself, wanting to prolong this dream for as long as I can. I dampen my hand with spit, and the experience improves, even if my palm falls many leagues short of the wet softness of my love’s cunny.
In my thoughts, I take Rosomon slowly, watching the satisfaction build in her eyes. Then I pin her against a wall, rutting into her with force, as she cries out her pleasure. In my lusty dreams, Saxon and Zogar join us, their hands and lips stroking her supple body as I plow into her.
The wall bracing her vanishes. Saxon is now behind her, his cock inside her ass, and together, we drive into her. Her lips part in ecstasy and her mouth is suddenly filled by Zogar’s girth. Her mouth spreads impossibly wide as she takes his cock, and pleasure rises in her eyes.
My dream doesn’t seem physically possible. It doesn’t need to be. All that matters is Rosomon’s obvious pleasure, and how close I am to reaching a climax.
Slowing my pace, I ease my grip. As much as I want the sleep my release could bring, I don’t want this fantasy to end. Not yet.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. Yes. Now, Zogar’s inside her, and Saxon is sliding his cock between her breasts. My fingers circle over her button and fondle the stretched, wet place where Zogar and Rosomon join, gathering some of her juices to help dampen her hot hard button. My climax nears.
Someone knocks on my door.
Ignoring it, I return to my fantasy, putting my cock inside her again as Saxon and Zogar hold her, bracing her to take my hard thrusts. I resolve to make this particular fantasy a reality as soon as we’re all back together.
The knock comes again. Then again.
Curses! Who in Othrix’s name is rapping upon my door at this hour?
I stomp across the room, and fling open the door to find a young woman, draped in a red cloak bearing the crest of Othrix.
“Yes?” I say more harshly than I mean to.
She sucks a shocked breath through her nose and then parts the cloak.
Under it, she’s wearing nothing. Golden chains, draped around her body, accentuate her breasts and ample hips, and her smooth, chestnut colored skin is oiled, her nipples painted with rouge.
Against my will, my eyes travel lower. Where any grown woman should have hair, this woman has none. Someone has shaved the triangle of hair over her cleft, and I shudder at the thought of a sharp blade wielded against such delicate skin.
I find my voice and my wits. “You have the wrong room.”
“Prince Tynan.” She shakes her head. “Your Highness. I’m here at the Head Klerick’s order.” She bows her head. “A gift from Othrix.”
Every part of my body frowns. “Since when does Othrix send such gifts?”
The skin on her cheeks darkens. “I…I only do as I’m told.” She glances down the hall, and when her eyes return to mine, they’re full of fear. “May I enter your chambers, Your Highness? Please?”
I back away from the door, letting her enter, but staying well back from her. This situation isn’t her fault or her doing, and she shouldn’t bear the weight of my displeasure.
Once in the room, she drops the cloak and sashays toward me, and the gold chains jingle like tiny bells as she moves.
“I’m here to pleasure you,” she says. “You are free to use me however you desire.” Turning, she bends forward and drags her finger through her folds.
She’s completely devoid of hair down there, and her nether lips are also painted with rouge.
“I have no need of your services,” I tell her calmly. Not only do I have no desire to fuck any woman but Rosomon, but this girl interrupted the best waking dream of my life.
She takes another step forward. “Your Highness,” she says. “I don’t want to contradict you, but it appears that you do have need of my services.”
I glance down. My cock, still stiff, is tenting my tunic, and I take another step back, suddenly very aware of its fabric. After the audience with my father, better clothes were delivered to my chambers, but even this fine linen feels like sandpaper at the moment.
I pull the fabric away from my sensitive head, and concentrate, trying to will the stiffness to die down.
“Don’t I please you?” she asks, with what sounds like genuine hurt in her voice.
“That’s not it.” I shake my head. “You’re very beautiful. But you’re not what I desire.”
“Oh, I see.” She nods. “I’ll have them send a boy.” She turns toward the door.
“No!” I say, far too harshly. But the last thing I need is someone else sent to the room. “It’s another woman I desire.”
Her expression falls.
“A specific woman,” I add quickly. “I’m deeply in love.”
She nods slowly, but she’s trembling now. Retrieving her cloak, I place it over her shoulders, and step quickly away. When I turn back, her eyes are filled with tears.
“I mean you no insult,” I say as gently as I’m able.
“I’m not insulted.” Tears trail down one cheek, and she wipes them away. “Men find me desirable. I know that. In fact, I’ve never met a man, even one newly wed, who’s refused me. Not before tonight. Nor have I heard of any man who’s refused any Wife of Othrix.”
My nose wrinkles when she calls herself that. Spending time with the servants, I’ve heard rumors that all concubines are now called that—at least the ones who serve as concubines to the klericks and the men at court.
“I’ve offended you.” She bows her head.
“No. Sorry. It’s—” How can I explain why I made a face of distaste without insulting her—or risking my life. “Please, sit.” I gesture toward a chair by the fire.
I remain standing, still tugging on the tunic’s fabric, in a vain attempt to disguise my unwanted protuberance.
“You say you’re a Wife of Othrix,” I say slowly. “How long have you held this…position?”
“Four moon cycles.” Her eyes are still glassy, and she glances away.
“And what was your…position before that?”
She shakes her head. “Before that, I had no value. My only value comes from serving Othrix.”
“I see how much it means to you,” I say gently. “But you must have had a life before.” She has at least twenty years. “Were you a servant here in the palace?” Should I recognize her? I’ll feel terrible if she stoked my fire each morn without me taking notice.
Her hands are trembling.
“Please,” I say softly. “I mean you no harm. Whatever you tell me, I vow I won’t repeat it. I vow in the name of Othrix.”
She lifts her gaze. “Truly?” She blinks and built up tears tumble over her high cheekbones. “I can tell you in confidence?”
I nod.
Her posture straightens as her chin rises. “I was—I am—Princess Glorya of Catha.”
I gasp. “You’re royalty?”
“Not anymore.” She glances away. “At least I’m alive, although some days—” She shakes her head.
“And what of your father?” I try to remember the name of the King of Catha.
“Beheaded.” Once again, her eyes fill with tears, but this time fueled by anger. “Along with every one of my brothers.”
Apprehension and anger freeze my heart. At least my infernal erection has vanished.
I want to ask more questions, but every day that I’m here I discover that the world I’ve returned to is very different and far more dangerous than the one I left.
Avoiding those at court whenever I can, I mostly converse with the servants but wish I could find someone I truly trust to ask more questions.
I’ve not found either my former valet or tutor alive.
“I’m very sorry, Princess Glorya. But I truly don’t need or want your services tonight.”
Her eyes fill with fear, again. “Please don’t call me that. I should not have told you of my former life.”
I mimic locking my lips.
She looks down at her hands. “If I fail to please you tonight, I’ll be punished.” The way she says this makes it clear it’s happened before, or she’s witnessed it done to others.
“Feel free to remain in my chambers as long as would be expected. I promise that I’ll tell the King and Head Klerick—whomever asks—how well you pleased me.”