Page 17 of Ruined by His Alpha King (Reluctant Fae Princes #3)

“I wouldn’t count that. I have been instructed by our mother to form strong ties with him to both our countries’ advantage.

” Stamel took a bite of the soup and swallowed hard.

The last time he’d tasted something of that nature had been a bland gruel the palace chef had made as a wickleaf porridge to thicken the gravy.

He held a straight face and took a third bite before placing his spoon to the side.

“Please, eat,” Alluin said, gesturing toward his bowl.

“I didn’t wish to be rude and wanted my appetite for the next course. Since things are in season, I wanted to focus my appetite on Liaberian produce.” Stamel smiled and Alluin nodded in approval. He, too, sat his spoon aside as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Apparently, he liked to starve. Ew.

When the soup was taken away, a fine salad followed, which Stamel praised, focusing more on the brighter-flavored notes in it, hoping Alluin would take the praise to heart and actually serve things that didn’t taste like parchment paste.

Seidrik, for his part, dug into the salad wordlessly, and Stamel felt that his every focus was in trying to appear invisible.

Dinner progressed into the main course, a prepared summer pheasant roasted and served over a bland boiled root. Not a fleck of foxpepper, a grain of salt, or any spice was present.

That’s it! Alluin has no soul! He’s a ghost from the void made solid. Or no sense of taste.

Dessert was an affront to the goddess herself, a steamed compote of wind apples.

No creeping bark, no flickercane sugar, only fruit and a dry wine baked into an uninteresting pale paste.

Stamel ate it to save face, but he caught Seidrik’s gaze, shooting him a disgusted look that he turned his head from, tensing as if he hid a laugh.

An elderly beta came shuffling in, head bowed low as they neared the end of their dessert. “The blessings, my liege?”

Seidrik bowed his head as Alluin placed his spoon down, head aloft as if he deserved the goddess’s praises.

It sickened Stamel on the goddess’s behalf.

He’d never be so bold as to regard prayers that way, and that was something that came from someone who, up until three years ago, had regarded the goddesses as nuisances.

The priest raised his hands and basically yodeled at them with geriatric blessings, his voice cracking as he chanted and praised the goddess before excusing himself .

“Now that’s over, I’ll retire. You must be exhausted. Your things were sent to Seidrik’s wing. Would you like him moved to another wing? Virion’s quarters are empty at the moment.” Alluin gave Stamel a polite smile that Stamel returned.

“No. I enjoy conversing tactics and strategy with him. He’s a treasure.” Stamel laid it on thick as Alluin nodded as if he didn’t believe it.

“Well, then I bid you goodnight. It does not do the sun fae well to wake during the moon’s time.” He yawned.

“Father, I have gifts for you from Croatens.” Seidrik stood and handed a polished flashpine box over to Stamel, who presented the embroidery and oils.

Alluin opened the box and stared at the gifts with feigned interest and offered a polite nod of thanks. “I must retire. Do get good rest.”

Stamel couldn’t get out of there fast enough as Seidrik rose and made his way to his wing. Not even a word from his father in greeting or dismissal.

He’d had a plan the whole trip to break in Seidrik’s bed, to make him sob with pleasure and beg for release. The sadness in those pale-blue eyes of his made him realize that Seidrik didn’t need that. Not that night.

As the hallway door closed, Seidrik bolted it and Stamel glanced around. “You have no attendants down this wing at all, do you? They didn’t even open a window or air the place out, did they?”

Seidrik shook his head and saw to his belongings, fishing around for his nightflower and honeythistle.

He took them dutifully, a swig of each before he made his way to his bed, not bothering to change into pajamas.

He threw his pants off with his jacket onto a valet rack and collapsed into the bed, his undergarments barely covering the pert plumpness of his beautiful rear. “Your room is—”

“Right here.” Stamel stripped his clothing piece by piece and kept quiet as he crossed the room and climbed under the covers. The stale scent was nearly offensive, but broke as the underlying scent of honeythistle and his mate added to it.

“I’d tell you no, but you won’t listen.” Seidrik gave in too easily, fidgeting to pull quilts back and slide under covers the opposite side. “Not like anyone will come and see us in bed together.”

“And if they do?” Stamel pulled Seidrik to his chest, nuzzling down to the top of his head. “I’ve already planted the seed in Alluin’s mind. By the time I raise the proposal, he’ll claim it was his own idea.”

“So, you say. What’s he going to do? Kick me out of the kingdom?

Disown me? I dream of that, sometimes. He never listened to me.

The day I reported to him with Virion’s thalms, I stuttered once, and he assumed—” Seidrik sighed and shook his head.

“He assumed I said three and two, like we count taxes.”

“By the law…” Stamel huffed. “Or should I say by her name?”

Seidrik shrugged. “We probably shouldn’t even swear by her in the first place. Consider it a kindness.”

“But you let him believe that. What would his reaction have been if you insisted it was thirty-two?” Stamel snickered.

“I’m only twenty-one, higher than my father by a measly thalm. Mother was almost thirty, twenty-nine but the tester flickered so they were certain she was nearing thirty.” Seidrik sighed.

“When you tested, was it before or after you manifested?” Stamel stroked the back of Seidrik’s head.

“Before. ”

“And you’ve not tested since?” Stamel pulled away at Seidrik’s dismissal and left the room, humming to himself as he rummaged through his things.

He had his own thalmeter for testing his soldiers and brought it back in.

He tested it on himself, registering his twenty-eight.

His fathers had been twenty-eight and twenty-nine respectively.

Askara had been thirty, and Virion thirty-two.

“Here.” He thrusted the meter into Seidrik’s hands and earned a scoff of refusal.

“Test. Now.” Stamel forced Seidrik’s hands on the meter and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. The thing lit up and Seidrik dropped it on the mattress like it was on fire, staring at it with wide-eyed almost horror.

“What did it say?” Stamel snorted and glanced down. Out of his hands, it didn’t so much as light up.

“Twenty-seven!”

“Beautiful. We’ll make strong children when I’m ready.” Stamel tossed the meter aside and snuggled back into bed, hands wrapping around Seidrik with his racing pulse. “Always test a child after they manifest. I tested at nineteen before I manifested, then I was twenty-eight.”

“Mother Goddess…” Seidrik whispered quietly, his eyes watering. “That was one of the reasons they didn’t find me a spouse, I’ll be honest. My thalms were high, but not as high as some royalty. They’ve lesser barons in Drashil with twenty-three thalms.”

“Well, don’t worry over it until we’re ready for little ones.

Your only focus now is to keep Alluin from snooping about.

I’ll train his guardsmen and make the male very happy.

Maybe it’ll ease some of the stress off you.

” Stamel said the last part with hope before he pulled Seidrik to face him and brushed their lips.

Seidrik reciprocated with a soft hum of pleasure, melting into Stamel’s touch.

He melted so much so that Stamel easily ran a hand down his chest, under his tunic, and toyed with his tender nipples, brushing them with featherlight touches.

His little huffs of pleasure were indistinguishable from a hidden sob, and it took no time at all to have Seidrik biting his pillow while he knotted his mate shamelessly.

As the goddess intended.