by Sofia Daniel
“Shit!” I slid off the horse, raced around its back, and yanked on Helen’s arm.
Her eyes widened, and she jumped down without a word. Perhaps it was the recent ambush, or she could feel another grisly murder attempt in my future, but she ducked low and followed me around to a stall that sold pig carcasses. We stopped behind two ogre females yelling negotiations at the tops of their voices.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Prince Rory’s here.” My gaze darted toward the crowd of admirers. “If he thinks I’m trying to escape the trials, he’ll have me decapitated!”
Chapter 17
As Helen and I cowered behind the ogres, I told her about my last few encounters with Prince Rory. Faeries of all shapes and sizes bustled around us, a few doffing their hats because of our high fae appearance. The auction came to a close with a round of polite applause for the faerie who had purchased the trio of pixies.
I turned to Helen, whose face paled to the color of snowdrops. “Do you think he knows we’re here?”
Helen grimaced. “If the academy’s wards told Aster and Gala our location…”
“Right,” I said, my heart sinking into my stomach. “Then Prince Rory would also know.”
Her gaze darted to the horses, which had wandered to a stall opposite the walkway to graze on vegetation growing between the paving stones. “If we leave now, we could return to the academy before him.”
I gulped hard. It might save my neck, but after having my hopes of finding Sicily revealed to be a sick joke, I couldn’t leave the Mound.
What if my sister was next on the auction block, and I missed her just to save my own neck? Last night, I was so happy. Elijah had supposedly found Sicily and proven his bravery and devotion, but my elation had turned to shit the moment his spunk had washed away the glamor.
A little voice in the back of my head wondered if he had done me a favor, but I dismissed it. Elijah only looked out for himself.
“No.” I squeezed Helen’s hand. “If I leave now, I might never get a chance to return.”
Her chestnut eyes turned solemn. She and I both knew what I had left unsaid. That the Fated might succeed in their next attempt at assassination.
“Alright,” Helen pointed at a series of tents at the far end of the market. “That’s the blacksmith’s stalls. Tell them you want some weapons fashioned and that you’ll be paying in iron.”
I patted the metal bulging out of my blazer pocket. “How much?”
“Shop around and see if you can get the best deal,” she said. “I’ll check the auction houses for human virgins. How old is your sister?”
“Nineteen,” I said. “My height with mousy-brown hair, and her name is Sicily.”
The ogre slung a pig carcass over each shoulder and headed in the direction of the blacksmith stalls, while her companion ambled toward the auction block.
Helen shooed me away. “Don’t leave the blacksmiths. I’ll come and find you later.”
“Alright.” I hurried along the ogre’s side, using her larger body as cover, and prayed to whoever was listening that Prince Rory would be too distracted by the crowd of admirers to notice me scurrying away.
“What are you doing?” asked a deep voice.
My head snapped up, and my gaze met the ogre’s watery eye. “Um…” The last thing I wanted to tell her was the truth. Ogres tolerated humans as long as you kept out of their way. My wings fluttered behind my back, reminding me that I had the appearance of a high faerie. Channeling my inner Fated Lady, I said, “What business is it of yours?”
The ogre sniffed and glanced away, leaving me slumping with relief. A few moments later, she stopped at a store that sold vats of fire, and I hurried toward the nearest tent.
As soon as I stepped through the flaps, dry heat engulfed my senses, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The tent flapped closed at my back, the fabric swishing against my calves. I exhaled a long breath and opened my eyes.
“May I help you?” A dwarf, the size of a ten-year-old, sat on a wooden trunk. About a dozen braids hung from his beard onto his apron-covered potbelly.
“Yes, please.” My gaze darted from left to right around the empty, round space. “Are you a blacksmith? I was expecting a forge.”
He hopped off his trunk and flipped open its lid. White-hot light flared out, making me squint. When my vision cleared, I cracked my eyes open to find a phoenix hovering in the air dripping liquid fire.
“Good enough for you?” asked the dwarf.
Placing a hand in my pocket, I stepped away from the phoenix’s radiant heat. “How much iron will you take to forge me some weapons?”
The dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow. “Money beads only.”
My shoulders slumped. “But—”
“Phoenix-forged weapons cost beads, not barter,” he snapped. “If you’ve already spent all your money, try someone hard-up for clients like the halfling four doors down.”
“Thanks anyway.” I turned on my heel and trudged out of the empty forge into the cool air. Keeping my head down and my face out of sight, I hurried down the row of tents to the fourth, which was about a quarter of the others’ size.
The moist heat of burning coal fanned my face as I entered the darkened space, and my ears rang with the clink of metal hitting metal. A little furnace about the size of our stove illuminated a thin, shirtless man whose skin glistened with sweat.
Sparks flew from the dagger he hammered into shape. He glanced up from his work, looking perfectly human, even down to his jet-black hair. I straightened, waiting for the right moment to interrupt his work.
The blacksmith picked up the molten dagger-shaped metal with a pair of tongs and dipped it into the water, filling the air with steam and sizzle. “Yes?”
“I have about two pounds of iron.” I placed a hand over the bulge in my blazer pocket. “How much would it cost to make some weapons?”
He placed the dagger to one side, stepped away from his forge, and rubbed his chin. “Dangerous stuff, iron is. Can you handle it?”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and thank him for the mansplaining—a term I had learned from my DVDs—and instead nodded.
“Let’s have a look,” he said.
I extracted the chain and held it out in my palm.
He stepped back and whistled. “How are you able to touch that without gloves?”
“I’m a half-blood, and iron doesn’t affect me.”
The blacksmith stared at it for several moments, seeming to consider whether he wanted to work with iron. I shallowed my breaths and blanked my mind to stay calm. If this guy didn’t accept iron in payment for forging the weapons, I’d have to try someone else.
“Have you asked the dwarves?” he asked. “Some of them have phoenixes who can mold it to whatever you wish while you wait.”
I raised a shoulder. “Apparently, they only take money beads.”
“Same here,” he muttered.
I slipped the iron back into my blazer pocket. “The dwarf with the beard-tails said—”
“That wanker’s been trying to run me out of business for months,” he growled.
“Right then.” I took a step back toward the tent’s exit. “I’ll go and—”
“Alright.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I’ll make you iron knuckles, a dagger, and an expanding and contracting silk-covered cock-ring. In return, I’ll take half your iron, one hard fuck now, and another upon delivery of your order.”
My hands flew up to my chest. “No!”
His face twisted into a scowl. “Fifty beads, then.”
I turned away. “Maybe I should try the other blacksmiths.”
“Wait!” he said from behind.
“What?” I asked.
“A blow job now and a hard fuck when you collect the weapons,” his breathy voice quivered with excitement.
Shaking my head, I hurried toward the exit. What was it with males taking advantage of desperate women? In the outside world, human
males were gentlemen who bought women flowers or hunted and fetched the water if they were on a survivor show.
“Why aren’t you negotiating?” he asked with a whine.
I paused just long enough to snap, “If I were male, would you accept half the iron in exchange for making weapons?”
The blacksmith folded his arms across his thin chest and huffed. “A blowjob, then. But I’ll wear the cock ring to make things last, and I get to cum over your tits.”
Cool air swirled in from behind, and a large presence appeared at my back, radiating enough magic to make my nerve endings tingle. “What did you say to my fated mate?”
My heart leaped into the back of my throat. Somehow, the wretched prince had spotted me.
“Your—” The blacksmith’s eyes widened. “Your Highness, I had no idea—”
“Silence,” Prince Rory said in a voice sharp enough to cut throats. He wrapped a possessive arm around my middle, resting his hand on my belly.
The blacksmith fell onto his hands and knees. My own knees trembled with the effort of keeping myself upright. With that powerful, Autumn magic swirling around my nipples, between my legs, and around my pulsing clit, every instinct wanted to supplicate myself at his feet.
“Please, sire,” cried the blacksmith. “I’m just a lowly half-blood trying to make a living—”
“Extorting oral sex from innocent young ladies?”
I clenched my teeth, fighting the arousal at the mere mention of sex. Until now, I hadn’t realized how unsatisfied Elijah had left me last night, but with Prince Rory’s large hand pulling me into the protection of his hard, muscular body, I couldn’t help but crave more of his touch.
“No,” he howled. “The young lady didn’t have any money beads, you see, and—”
“Make my fated a trousseau of weapons suitable for a lady of the royal court.”
“Yes, sire,” the blacksmith rasped.
Prince Rory threw down a large purse that clanked with the weight of its contents. “Have the items ready in an hour.”
The blacksmith raised his head. “But—”
“An hour.” Prince Rory flung the flaps of the tent open and rushed out into the market with me clutched to his chest like a comfort blanket.
A crowd gathered around us, mostly of blushing high faeries eager to catch a glimpse of the handsome prince. He cursed under his breath and launched us into the air.
I stared down at the upturned faces. “Why isn’t anyone following?”
His wings sliced through the air like blades, propelling us over the market. Prince Rory flew toward the highest amphitheater tiers. “They can trail after us on foot all they like, but it’s illegal for a fairy to stalk a member of the royal family.”
“Where are we going?”
His harsh laugh sent a shiver racing down my spine. It settled between my legs, where it continued to tingle. “It’s time to test your skills at oral pleasure.”
“Oh.” The tingle intensified.
Moments later, we reached a set of low, Tudor-style buildings complete with dark wooden beams and white rendering. Prince Rory flew through an open window into a cozy parlor consisting of a chaise lounge and low tables, and then he set me onto my feet.
I knelt between his spread legs and rested my hands on his hot, muscular thighs. Arousal pulsed through my core at being so close to this gorgeous creature, but I tamped down my desire, tilted my head up, and scowled.
Prince Rory’s forest-green eyes sparkled. “Look at you, pretending not to want it when I can smell your need.”
My teeth ground together, and I squeezed my thighs tight. “I’m not—”
“Don’t lie.” He gave me a gentle tap on the nose. “The more powerful the fae, the more adept he is at sensing when a female is close to heat.”
I shook my head. This was regular old arousal that I felt for Elijah, for the Lumberjacks of Switzerland. “You’re wrong.”
He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. “Deny it all you want, but there’s no mistaking that oral sex is part of the trial.”
“I’m only doing this because I’ll get decapitated if I don’t.”
Prince Rory snorted. “If that makes you feel better about giving in to your wanton desires, sure.”
“Fine.” I lowered my gaze down from his handsome face, over his broad shoulders, and to the prominent pecs straining from the front of his shirt. My tongue darted out to lick my lips, and his green eyes tracked the movement.
Prince Rory moaned, the sound going straight to my folds. “Are you ready to start the next trial?”
“Has your other fated mate performed this round yet?”
He snorted. “I wouldn’t let that faerie anywhere near my royal cutlass.”
I smirked at the image of a curved sword between his legs.
“Do you prefer the human term, crown jewels?” He paused to gauge my reaction. “How about cock?”
A fevered breath puffed out from my lips. “Say that again?”
“Suck my cock, Unity,” he said, the depth of his voice curling around my libido and squeezing tight. “Slide my organ between your plump lips and moan.”
Wetness gathered in my folds. This was ridiculous. I hadn’t even lowered my gaze to his crotch, and I was already so turned on. My gaze swept down his torso to the erection straining through his black pants. I trailed my finger along its hot length, enjoying hearing him hiss through his teeth.
“Unbutton my breeches,” he said.
Without meaning to, my hands slid up to the waistband of his pants, and I slid the top button out from its hole.
“Yes,” he moaned. “Unwrap your prize.”
Normally, I would laugh in a guy’s face if he implied his dick was some kind of reward. Maybe Prince Rory standing up for me at the blacksmith’s had been a complete turn on. What girl wouldn’t want a gorgeous, powerful male coming to her rescue? Even if the male had threatened my life, his presence still gave me an inexplicable thrill.
I fastened the next button, then the next, until a huge, bulbous tip protruded through his fly with a bead of pre-cum so pearlescent, it made my mouth water.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Hungry for royal cock.”
The pulse between my legs beat harder than my heart, indicating that the time for denial was over. I wanted his dick in my mouth and possibly more if he would allow it.
Wetting my lips, I leaned forward for a lick.
Prince Rory placed a hand on my shoulder. “Take your time. This isn’t a race.”
“What?” My gaze snapped up to his smiling eyes.
“Place my balls in your mouth and suck.”
I groaned with a mix of frustration, amusement, and arousal gathering low in my belly. Prince Rory raised his hips off the chaise. Before I could pull his pants down his ankles, they, along with my clothes, disintegrated like dead leaves.
Cool air swirled around my naked form, and my nipples tightened. “What did you do—”
“Shhh.” He placed a finger on my lips and scooted forward. “I’ll return your uniform after I’m satisfied.”
I leaned further between his spread thighs and placed a kiss on his balls. Peach fuzz the same color as the blond highlights in his hair tickled my lips. I hummed my approval, opened my mouth, and eased his testicle down my tongue.
Prince Rory panted. “You naughty girl.”
I continued licking and sucking his ball, eliciting the types of mewls and gasps and whimpers unexpected from a murderous fae prince. My right hand slid between his muscled thighs, and I wrapped my fingers around his thick, hot shaft.
“Put my cock in your pretty mouth,” he growled.
Slipping his testicle from my lips, I ran my tongue down the underside of that veiny shaft. His cock head was a deep red darker than the russet shade of his pubes with pre-cum drizzling down to my fingers.
I longed to lick off the moisture, but I had my orders, so I ran the flat of my tongue over his slit and lapped up the salty fluid.
“Good girl,” said Prince Rory with a gasp.
Heat flared between my legs, and my core twitched, urging me to scramble up his thighs and show him what else I could do with his royal cock.
I kissed and nipped and licked his shaft, sucked him along the sides, ran my tongue over its prominent veins, all while massaging his balls with one hand. Prince Rory’s moans drowned out the frantic pounding between my ears.
“Put it in your mouth,” he said through harsh, panting breaths. “Suck me.”
He could wait. While I was with him, nothing mattered. Not the fated’s attempts at assassination and not these wings that fluttered faster than the hungry twitching in my core. Even my concern for Sicily receded to a minor ache. I reveled in the respite, in my control over this powerful male, and continued teasing that huge, royal cock.
His thighs trembled, and I reached between my sopping wet folds and placed a finger on my throbbing clit.
I ran gentle circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out the sensations to pace myself and not climax too soon. Pleasure rippled through my core, making my eyes roll to the back of my head.
He wrapped a hand around my arm. “What are you doing?”
My brows furrowed. “Making myself climax.”
“Get on the chaise.”
“Why?”
“Do you want me to lick your pearl or not?”
As I shot to my feet, Prince Rory lay on his back with his arms stretched out to me. “Place your knees by my shoulders.”
“Really?”
He pulled me close and hoisted me into position over his huge, muscular frame. My hands landed on his hips, and my shins sank into the petal-soft cushions on either side of his head. I stared at the huge, glistening cock in my line of sight.
“Now, suck me.” His hot breath against my folds made the muscles of my core clench.
Wrapping one hand around the base of his shaft, I lowered my lips to that enormous head. I had to open wide to accommodate his girth, but with mutual, appreciative groans, I let him slide down to the back of my throat.