Page 35

35

RUT AND TELL

Valdred

I didn’t intend to remain the entire night; there are things I ought to take care of at home. My father’s been stripped of his title, but many of the lords and ladies of his court are loyal to him. I left a vulnerability behind me, one that could be exploited at any moment. So, my plan was to fuck the queen, boast about it, and return before dawn.

Except I was still getting licked, and pinched, and bitten, and fucked within an inch of my life at dawn. Then I passed out. I am man enough to admit I was in no state to move. These two don’t just screw: they conduct an entire battle on their bed. I don’t think I could take it every night.

“It seems that the supervision worked,” Darina drawls with a yawn. “No attempted murder today.”

“You’ll have to find yourself another supervisor,” I groan, wincing as I make myself sit up. “This one’s broken.”

“I didn’t sleep,” Ryther retorts.

He’s still in the middle of the bed, between us, and there’s a large volume in ancient Elvish open on his lap.

“Not at all?” Darina frowns. “You ought to rest.”

“I’ll rest when I get home.” He shuts the book and moves to stand, graceful as ever, while I feel like a kelpie trampled me.

He truly is a monster.

With a flick of his hand, shadows rise, pushing my pants onto my lap. “It’s late enough in the day that most of the court ought to be awake, and early enough that those who intend to take their leave today likely haven’t had a chance to depart yet. Perfect time to make a spectacle. You ought to leave your doublet; go down in your undershirt and cloak. Let them see the marks.”

I look down at my bare torso, and gasp at the bruises. “I should have healed by now.”

Ryther grins. “I sprinkled a little iron dust on this scratch.” His chin points to claw marks on my shoulder, my throat, and disappearing behind my back. “You didn’t even twitch, you were that exhausted. It’s slowed your healing for a little while.”

No wonder I feel so battered. If I had any energy, I would curse him for it. I should have been afforded a warning, or better yet, asked for permission. As it stands, I simply sigh.

“That wasn’t very kind,” Darina admonishes. “I was shot by iron; it sucks.”

“A little dust doesn’t hurt anyone,” Ryther assures her. “Indeed, some take pleasure in it.”

“Oh?” There’s a note in her tone that I fully understand after last night. She’s intrigued.

“Yes. If you’re good, I’ll show you how.”

Damn, these two are bloody insatiable.

Before risking another tumble between two forces of nature, I put on my pants and the white linen shirt I wear under my doublet.

Against Ryther’s advice, I bypass the coat. If I’m to show off, might as well do it properly. The shirt’s open to my midriff, right above my navel. Leather strings can tie it up, but I leave them.

Frankly, I look like myself for once. Since I was made regent a hundred years ago, I’ve ensured I looked the part, wearing the proper brocade, gold stitches, red velvet, the finest silk. But for the two centuries prior, I barely even wore clothing. Down in the fighting pit where I was raised, clothes are a reward few are afforded. As one of the best, I was given pants, and a shirt just like this one, but no shoes. Certainly no coat.

Still, it’s the first time the leaders of Ilvaris will see me like this.

“What’s the plan today?” Darina asks.

“You’ve just been crowned. You’re supposed to hold a party, one that lasts for days. The lords here for the conclave will leave in due time, but others will come to greet the new queen: the courtiers from all over the land, renowned warriors, crafters, musicians. It won’t be much different from what happened after Loch crowned you. They’ll introduce themselves, and ask for boons, or offer gifts,” Ryther explains. “Some will offer their services to you. Other may ask for the high queen’s judgement on affairs beyond their lords. It’s important to make a note of who fail to come, more than those who show themselves. Loch and Relva will keep a record for you.”

She sighs deeply. “And here I thought things would calm down after last night.”

“You were poisoned last night, and almost forced to wed Junis the night before that,” I remind her. “Then, there were three days of being hunted through the Hollow. If we avoid curses, spells, and murder, I’d say the night will be positively mundane in contrast.” Once I’ve laced up my shoes, I make my way to the door, but I hesitate on the threshold. “Can you two be left alone?”

Ryther and Darina look at each other. He’s still completely naked, that powerful, muscular frame bare as he places the book he was reading on one of the shelves near the roaring fireplace. Darina’s under the covers, but likely also undressed.

In that one beat, I know what will occur the moment I leave. My own cock is taking a vacation, likely useless for at least a day after last night, but Ryther’s is standing to attention.

Freak.

I sigh, deeply. “I’ll send you another supervisor.”

I find Relva in the adjacent room, fussing with half a dozen dresses, adjusting a sleeve here, a fold there. “If you’re available,” I tell her, “the queen’s about to get fucked, and possibly choked to death without an overseer.”

“Well, that won’t do,” she decides. “I didn’t have all those dresses made for nothing!”

She takes a blue-black gown stitched with silver stars and rushes across the room. I wonder whether she’ll also get manhandled by the two beasts, or simply enjoy the show. I suppose there’s no logical reason why she should be fucked; after all, she’s also unseelie. But I’m starting to understand Ryther and Darina don’t need reasons so much as a half-decent excuse to give into their baser instincts.

The noises I hear passing by the sister’s room suggest the insatiability may be a family trait. Not quite sure who’s making her pant like this. For a moment, I wonder if I should check; plenty of folk would take pleasure in taking a mortal and ripping them apart. Whenever I saw her last night, she was ogled by at least a dozen people who looked like they’d like nothing more than to eat her up—most, literally.

But she has her own guard, and I have quite enough on my plate at the moment, so I walk down to the great hall.

As expected, my entrance doesn’t go unnoticed. Nor does my attire.

“Well, don’t you look like you were properly trounced,” Lark says, offering me a goblet filled with dark wine.

I take it gratefully. I ought to drink a healing draught instead, but wine will do for now.

“I was.” I grin over the rim of the golden goblet. “At least half a dozen times.”

“Oh?” Sorian prompts, her elegant wings fluttering behind her. “Please, tell.”

I do. I tell all, accepting more wine, letting others join our little circle, yet more shamelessly listening in on my exploits. Or rather, my surviving a fuck that could have crippled a lesser man.

“Then, I think, ‘fine, I can finally sleep, or die, whichever.’ Both options sounded dreadful. So, I collapse on top of the covers. I’ve only closed my eyes when I feel that brute mounting me. Again .”

They all laugh. So do I. It was positively ridiculous.

“I think I slept through most of that round. But when I regained my senses, somehow, I was licking our queen for the fourth time, at least. I tell you, she’s addictive.”

“A cunt is a cunt,” Lark retorts with a shrug. “You’ve licked one, you’ve licked them all.”

“My friend, I only wish I could make you understand how very wrong you are. She tastes like springtime. As lovely as sweetpeas and primroses, with honeyed everapples.”

A puck I don’t know snorts. “Nonsense.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Well, you asked for it.”

My hand moves to my temple, as I focus to remember the exact taste of her, and then, I let that memory push through the forefront of my mind, past all my mental shields, and I share it with the assembled crowd—just two dozen folk or so. The taste is accompanied with the visual, the way she looked, and those words she whispered.

“You’re so very good, Valdred.”

From the many gasps, the vision works as intended.

I wasn’t exaggerating; Darina’s skin, her folds, don’t taste like flesh. She even sweats sweetly. Her bloodline is pure fae, born of nature and magic, and that’s exactly what she feels like.

“Oh, man. I’m hard,” my friend Kybriel groans. “How am I supposed to greet her now that I know what she looks like in throes of passion?”

I let myself look around. Most of the attention is on or around me.

Lark, Sorian, Kybriel, and Lord Kraid are the only four representatives of my court I see at one glance. That’s not good. Many left with my father, loyal to him no matter what the queen proclaimed.

I make myself look at Kraid, a general in my father’s old army. “Say, are you returning home shortly? I’d love to oversee the troops soon, since they’re now mine.”

He’s no fool, and the subtext is clear. Yes, I understand why he’s here, to present himself to the queen, but I need him at his post, to ensure I don’t return to rubble.

He bows low. “Yes, I’ll ensure they’re prepared to greet their new lord. You will convey my regrets to the new queen?”

“Naturally.”

He doesn’t linger after that.

“Has the crowd thinned a little?” I wonder out loud, though in fact I count twice as many folk as yesterday.

“Somewhat. The bright queen already took her leave, as well as the duchess of the court of wings,” Lark replies knowingly.

I’m not surprised. Neither of them were going to be placated by Darina’s show of impartiality in any case. They want her gone because she diminishes their power. The end.

“The mortal courts are gone, too,” Sorian adds. “Silver and gold. They never stay long to party with us.”

She pouts at that.

“Perhaps because some of the folks’ ideas of partying with them is skewering them over a low fire?”

I turn to see Loch approach me, his eyes glinting with mirth.

There are low bows. There was no official announcement, but it’s rather clear to anyone that he already stands very close to the new queen. Loch has always intrigued, and been feared by all, but he’s shrouded with more mystery than ever. They wonder how he, of all the untrustworthy, wicked folk, could have become the queen’s hand so quickly.

Offering to be murdered by her will do that. I nod respectfully, and he returns it.

“The queen’s on her way,” he announces.

I scan the unshielded minds, brushing against them fast, my intrusion too shallow to be noted. And I smirk.

Every single person in the room is picturing her with her legs spread and praise on her lips, wondering if they can have a little taste of spring, instead of thinking about chopping her head off.

That’s what one calls progress.