Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Have you seen such a ritual before?” Arcus brushes my hair back to press his lips to the hollow of my throat. “Your fragile mortal heart is racing.”
“No, Your Majesty. Never.” I breathe and squeeze my thighs together. I think of Firo, of tormenting him in the library and how powerful I felt. I wonder if he’s here, remembering the same thing.
Arcus’s hand falls to my lap and pushes through my robes. He delves between my thighs and thrusts two fingers inside me. When he withdraws them, a web of fluid stretches between them. “You’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve experienced here, Your Majesty.” Even your attempt to terrify me. “Will you explain it to me?”
“The priestesses are the Gwragedd Annwn,” Kathras says before his father can speak, still not looking at me. “They are water. The fire should be obvious, even to a human.”
I bristle at that. “And I suppose the seed represents the soil?”
“No.” Now, he does look at me, to reach out and touch my mask. “You represent the soil, and all that grows from it. Do you see the others dressed like you?”
I loathe that I was wrong, when he is so haughty and dismissive, but I do see more plant masks.
“And air?” I gesture overhead at a merry dance of winged fae whose masks are adorned with feathers like his.
“All of this talk of ritual bores me,” Cassan complains.
“Cenere has a promising future here at court,” Arcus says, lazily waving his hand. “Your brother is right to educate her on the customs Luthian never bothered to.”
“Luthian?” Kathras’s face blanches visibly, even in the warmth of the firelight.
“Father allowed him to return, thanks to this luscious human,” Cassan explains.
“Having Luthian at court is a small price to pay for such a wonder.” Arcus moves one of my flimsy scarves aside to bare my breast. He cups it and rubs his finger over my nipple, turning it flush and hard.
In the circle, the drums have again reached a peak, and the bound faeries grunt and moan as they empty themselves into the goblets again. When the drumming starts up once more, some of them begin to weep.
“Pleasure and Torment,” Arcus whispers. “Wait until I have you next, and you will learn the depths of both.”
I have already learned, from a far better tutor. But I shiver, which he seems to enjoy, and I reach up to brush my fingers over his mask. “And you, Your Majesty? What element do you represent?”
“Magic.” He flicks his finger against the arm of his crystal throne, and it lights from within with a short pulse of white.
I let out a little gasp to show how impressed I am. For a king, he’s shockingly easy to manipulate. Perhaps having such an inflated sense of self-worth makes one blind to how malleable they truly are.
Kathras speaks again, as if his lesson wasn’t interrupted. “When the goblets are full, they’ll be passed around the courtiers to share, to take in the power that was raised.”
“And then, lovely Cenere, we’ll celebrate our new power with a game,” Arcus says.
“A game, Your Majesty?”
He taps the end of my nose. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But expect to be taken tonight. And expect me to take you.”
“If you find her first,” Cassan says casually.
Should I taunt him about the wager? For if he does take me tonight, he’ll have already lost. I’ll wait until I know if the bet is a secret or not.
“I’ll have her, anyway,” Arcus growls, his pride unmistakably wounded. He reaches between us to unlace his breeches.
I move obediently into place, sliding from his knee to stand. He lifts me onto his cock, parting my legs around him, and I find myself in a position very like the one from the throne room. His thick shaft opens me, and I moan, leaning my head back on him while he thrusts with the lazy rhythm of the drums.
“She’s mine,” the king warns his sons. “She may be Luthian’s mate, but this cunt belongs to me.”
The more Arcus talks, the more I look forward to his death. I keep my gaze fixed on the activity in the circle, though I don’t forget to perform appropriately for the king’s ego. He speeds up when the drums do, go still when they stop, resumes when they pick up again, and soon I’m no longer feigning my enjoyment. His fingers trip across my clit while his other hand holds me upright, mashing my breast. I move with Arcus, forgetting how personally repugnant he is, and I come again and again with the faeries in the circle.
I glance up now and then to track the movement of the moon across the sky. By the time it reaches its apex, the chained faeries are no longer crying out or resisting. They whimper, their mouths slack, some of them drooling as their heads loll on their necks. The drums stop one last time.