Some might think his grasp on Valerius’s head was too tight, but to him, it made him only want it more, want it harder.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Tamlen shook his head in mock disappointment. “Don’t touch yourself. If I catch you doing it again, Vale, I’m going to have to punish you.” At that, Valerius immediately wondered if he should do it again, just to see what kind of punishment the man had in mind, but his next words caused those thoughts to halt, “Take me in your mouth.”
Of course it’s where this was leading, but to hear him say it still made Valerius’s muscles clench, his balls tighten. The man knew how to drive him mad, didn’t he?
Valerius brought his hand to the base of Tamlen’s shaft, pulling the skin taught before parting his lips and taking him in. As his tongue swirled around the tip, he heard the man above him let out a ragged sigh, seeming to shake his very core. His fingers still tugged on his hair, which only served to make him work harder. His own cock throbbed with the urge to be touched, the need to release, but he could do nothing but bob along Tamlen’s length.
Making Tamlen come, giving the man pleasure and hearing him moan…it drove Valerius mad with desire. His skin flushed, his eyes closed, he liked to be dominated. There was something so carnal, so inherently erotic to let himself be used for another’s pleasure. Maybe it was due to his repressed childhood, or perhaps it was simply his preference. Either way, he liked to be taken as much as he liked giving it to Lena.
Tamlen’s body stiffened, heat radiating off his form as his cock spasmed in his mouth. A warm, salty substance shot down Valerius’s throat as the man above him moaned, not bothering to hide or stifle his cry of pleasure. For his part, Valerius swallowed him up. Every single drop the man’s cock spewed out he devoured eagerly.
Breathing hard, Tamlen released his hair. He pointed. “To the bed.”
Valerius’s cock grew even harder, if it was possible. It’d been far too long since he’d felt Tamlen inside of him, too long since he’d had an orgasm that completely rocked and shattered his every nerve. He moved to the bed, dusty as it was, bending over it with his backside in the air. His skin tingled in anticipation, his own breathing rough. He felt Tamlen draw his hands down his back, pausing when they reached his ass.
“Tell me, do you want me inside of you?” Tamlen asked, faking a cluelessness that did not suit him. He knew damned well Valerius was aching to have that cock inside of him; he only prolonged it, teasing him, torturing him in a most awful way. He wanted to hear Valerius say it aloud. Sometimes things were hotter when spoken out loud.
“Yes,” Valerius said, hardly able to breathe out the word. Bent over a bed that hadn’t seen use in years upon years, it wasn’t the best location, but he wouldn’t be choosy. He just wanted his blasted cock. He inhaled sharply when he felt Tamlen spread his cheeks and position the tip of his cock, still wet with his saliva, right before the hole.
As he pushed inside slowly, Valerius muttered again, “Yes.”
Zys had been foolish for staying away, for allowing himself to get lost in his own thoughts. Lena had lost a new friend because of it, because of Cailan’s insanity, and since Zys hadn’t been around, he couldn’t save her. He could bring her back from the dead, but Lena did not seem too terribly keen to keep using necromancy, which he would allow only because he cared for her, because he respected her wishes.
Because, quite shockingly, he loved her.
Indeed, the realization he cared for her more than he’d previously thought was the reason he’d been in his own realm when she’d needed him. He would not leave again, not now he knew the entire truth of the feelings stirring within him.
And most certainly not now that her hair and eyes were blue. It was like they were in his vision of the future, the one he’d had so long ago it felt like a…almost like a dream, as mortal as it was to admit. Her hair was blue, her eyes lively and happy, the crown circling the skin on her forehead—not the crown of Rivaini, but his crown. The one that marked her as a goddess, his goddess.
They were one step closer to the vision; all they had to do now was deal with Cailan in a way that satisfied her. Baiting Cailan to want to catch the white wyvern…it was a decent enough idea, provided his ego was truly so large. And Zys had given Lena all the clues he could without practically screaming it at her.
He hadn’t taken anything from her.
Meaning, she still had power over blackfire. Still had blood like his. She was his blackblood, blood of his blood, and he would never abandon her. The sooner she realized it, the sooner she would realize the blasted necklace could not keep her contained.
Zys had immediately done what needed to be done, and he appeared in the wing of the castle where the others were. Past the servant quarters, he found Bastian standing in a dim hall. No candelabras were lit, because no one came to this part of the castle anymore. Though Bastian wore his armor, though he looked nothing more than a shiny man in a metal suit, Zys was able to tell who he was in a matter of seconds.
He did hold dominion over the dead, even if they each looked the very same, Zys would be able to discern them. A parental instinct, he supposed.
“Zys, what are you doing here?” Bastian spoke, his accented voice almost sing-song. Zys could certainly understand why Lena adored his accent so; it was so utterly different than the way Rivainians spoke. The folk of Rivaini were more vulgar, less melodic. Their vowels were hard and rough while a Sumerian’s were light and feathery.
Silver eyes flicking to the closed door behind him, Zys said, “I am here to speak with you all about Lena’s recent decision.”
Bastian glanced to the door. Though his helmet blocked his face, Zys imagined him growing quite flushed under there as he said, “Vale and Tamlen are…currently indisposed.” A fancy way of saying they were busy getting intimate. Zys was not an idiot, but he did not care, as long as Lena allowed it.
“Very well,” Zys said, “then I shall tell you, and you’ll in turn relay the message to the others, if only to ready them. If all goes according to plan, we will be leaving the castle soon. Lena has decided, after recent events, Cailan should not be the king.”
“Recent events?”
“I’m unsure whether you’ve heard any gossip lately, considering you’ve been staying away, but Cailan had both Henrik and Anne executed yesterday.”
At that, Bastian sluggishly took off his helmet, only to meet Zys’s expression with a look of utter sadness. “Anne? Wasn’t she…”
“Lena’s maidservant, whom she was starting to become friends with, yes.”
“Gods,” Bastian muttered, hazel eyes grave. “What does Lena want to do?”
Zys was unsure how Bastian would respond. He was the man, the chevalier, who always believed in Lena, that she would never want to do harm on someone else purposefully. He believed the best in her, and now his faith would be tested as Zys said, “She wants to kill him.”
The other man was rendered speechless.
“He is quite mad, I assure you. He left both Henrik’s and Anne’s heads in her bedchambers, stationed multiple guards outside of her door and refused to serve her any kind of meal.” Zys spoke of things he should not know, but did, due to his connection with her. It was a connection he should’ve used more yesterday. He shouldn’t have been so concerned about the budding love in his chest; if he hadn’t, perhaps Anne could’ve been saved.
Bastian grew irate. “He cannot treat his future queen as such—”
“She does not wish to marry him,” Zys informed the man. It should’ve been clear already with how Cailan had treated her, but Bastian was the type of man who needed things spelled out for him. “She believes this entire kingdom will do better without him, and seeing as how he had Anne executed for merely becoming close to Lena, to punish her, I am inclined to agree with her. Would you disagree?”
“I…” It must’ve pained Bastian to finally say, “I do not. I only wish there was another way, but sometimes death must be the answer.”
Zy
s gave him the beginnings of a smile—it was an action he was growing better at as the hours wore on and he continued parading around in this human form. “Bastian LeFuer, death is always the answer.”
And so he explained to Bastian what the plan was, how Lena had come up with the white wyvern as bait, how they would dispatch him in the King’s Gardens. They would figure out how to get him away from his guards, get him alone, when the time came. For now, Zys had to make sure the others would be ready to follow, for there was no telling what Cailan would do. He might gather a group of guards and leave at the drop of a hat, or he might spend some time planning the excursion. Either way, he would need Lena’s expertise to see the fabled creature.
Yes. Cailan’s days were numbered. His reign as king would be shockingly quick.
When a measly boy had declared to Cailan’s guards he had a letter from the College, Cailan tried not to laugh outright. The boy was maybe ten years at the most, still short and round in the face. The look in his eyes said it was urgent and serious, though, so Cailan had waved his guard in, allowing the boy to hand him the letter before scurrying off.
“A letter from the College,” Cailan spoke to himself, glancing at his guard. He pointed to the door to his study, “Leave me.” Once he was alone, he studied the letter. It seemed College-sent, but there was no way to be certain, for the gates were still down, the College still closed. Someone could’ve easily handed the letter through the bars.
Since it was sealed, Cailan searched for his letter opener—and he could not find it. Of course. Why would he? It was ironic, considering it was how he’d killed his father. He got to his feet, wandering to the wall, where a mirror hung, the fixture recently fixed after his outburst. When he gazed into his reflection, he saw…
He saw himself, and yet, also not himself. He saw more. Cailan saw blackness seeping out of his eyes in the mirror, almost like Hunger was leaving him, which was impossible. Hunger was a part of him. Even though the spirit hadn’t spoken to him since his coronation, he knew.
He was Hunger now.
Cailan eventually decided on his fingers—it was such a savage way to open a letter, and it risked harming the letter inside, but he would not wait any longer. His curiosity got the best of him. Once the letter was out of its envelope, he scanned its inked contents.
The College hoped everything was going well inside the castle, that his royal investigation into the ex-High Enchanter’s necromancy use would soon come to an end and that things could return to normalcy. Best wishes were sent because they’d heard he’d chosen a mage for a future wife.
At that, Cailan had to pause in his skimming, because honestly, after what Lena had done, she did not deserve to be the queen. Still, he hadn’t met anyone who had the possibility of being his equal, so he was loathed to simply toss her to the block and have her executed.
The letter went on to say, to suggest something which would make Cailan’s wedding and his entire reign more memorable, as if it were dictated by Enu herself. If Cailan was able to catch the white wyvern his late father had deemed a hunt for, the event would surely go down in the history books. He would be the envy of all; even Sumer would have to concede in his divine right to rule.
Cailan outright scoffed at that, for the damned Empress did not seem like the sort who would ever do such a thing.
Towards the bottom of the letter, there was an added note. A College student had recently changed her dissertation to be about the white wyvern, and the very same student had told others she’d in fact seen the beast while she was out during the hunt, though she did not attempt to catch or kill it. It might be easier to have the mage join him in the search for it, and Cailan was fortunate enough to already have the mage in his castle.
Lena.
It was signed by some enchanter, his name followed by the words acting High Enchanter.
He threw the letter on his desk. Who was the enchanter to suggest anything to him? He was the king; he did not need someone to give him such ideas. His rule was already in place by the gods…although, it had been decades since any hunter had brought back a wyvern, longer since an albino creature had been slain. If he was able to find it, catch it, he’d have a nice royal pet that would surely give pause to any of his enemies, for if Cailan could tame a magical beast like it, what more was he capable of?
Sinking into his desk chair, Cailan thought of Lena. If she’d seen the wyvern, she might indeed be the best bet in finding it again. There was a certain way about her, he couldn’t blame the creature for being drawn to her and not any of the other hunting nobles. But he was intensely angered with her right now, and she was being punished for her actions. To invite her to a hunt would make it seem like he’d forgiven her, which he most certainly hadn’t.
Perhaps, Cailan thought, he could make this her last chance. To redeem herself, to cement her place at his side, she would have to help him catch the white wyvern. If she failed, she would meet the block.
Yes. As he started to make the preparations, he knew: it was a proposition she would not, could not say no to.
Find the wyvern or die.
Chapter Nine
Lena was as thrilled as she could be, considering the plan. Whatever Zyssept had done worked. Cailan had sent a guard to her the next day, along with another servant, the same old woman who’d gotten her ready the morning of the executions, and the guard had told her she was to leave the castle with Cailan. He also said if she failed to locate the white wyvern, Cailan would not give her any more chances.
Which was quite alright, for she only needed one.
The servant helped her bathe—something she absolutely hated, for regardless of how much Lena said she could wash her own body, the old woman simply shook her head and said Cailan gave her explicit instructions to never leave Lena alone.
“Are you coming?” Lena asked as the woman roughly ran a brush through her wet hair.
“No, but you will be surrounded by guards. You are to leave this afternoon.”
Great. If they were to leave this afternoon, they’d arrive at the King’s Gardens only an hour or two before nightfall. Not nearly enough time to pretend to track the wyvern while plotting Cailan’s death.
Lena supposed she could’ve asked Zyssept to do it, and perhaps it was due to Anne’s death, but she couldn’t let anyone else take the final blow. She wanted to do it, though before she did, she’d have to speak with Zyssept about the spirit inside of him. If Cailan had twisted Hunger, or if Hunger had twisted him, would it make things more difficult? Even in death, the spirit hadn’t left Vale, otherwise it would not have been trapped in his tomb. Whatever powers held the spirit inside a body once it found a vessel stopped it from hopping from person to person.
Odds were Cailan would not meet his death tonight.
Maybe tomorrow.
Honestly, it all would depend on whether or not she could get him alone, on how he acted around her, and on how many guards would accompany them. Probably lots, knowing how paranoid he was now.
Cailan must’ve been feeling generous, for after the old woman had dressed her and done her hair—no makeup, for Lena had destroyed it all, and the King was not keen on giving her more—she was invited to dine with him before they set out. It was the first time she would see him since the execution, since he’d left her with two heads, heads that were very rotten by now and stinking up her bedroom so bad the smell made her nauseous.
As the old servant led her through the castle, two guards walking behind her, Lena gave herself a pep talk. Remain calm in his presence, beguile him, make him think you’re repentant, that you’re apologetic for what you’ve done. Yes, doing so might make the job of killing him easier, or it might be a useless endeavor. She’d see soon enough, she supposed.
When she came into the private dining hall she used to share with Cailan daily, the moment when she saw the food arranged on the table, Lena felt her stomach rumble. Her head was light as she made her way to the seat opposite him after giving Cailan a quick curt
sey. She pretended not to notice how angry he looked, nor the shadows under his eyes. She ignored the way her skin crawled when she sat. Knowing what he did, knowing he’d heard her slip up with Zyssept…
Well, it made everything worse.
“How do you find your room?” Cailan asked, skipping the part where he would comment on her looks. They were past that point in their relationship now, past the pleasantries and the fake courtship. His voice dripped animosity, a venom which made Lena flinch. Making him lower his guard around her would not be an easy feat.
“I find the smell of rotting flesh to be most wonderful,” Lena said, unable to hold her smart comments back. After flicking her gaze behind her and seeing her guards stood outside the door, meaning her and Cailan were pretty much alone, she added, “It reminds me of my parents, actually.”
Cailan took a slow sip from his wine glass, lifting a single blonde brow. A Tamlen-like expression, but though his face was handsome, he was nothing like him. “Does it?”
She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in the food before her, but she held back to say, “Yes. Though it is much different than burning flesh. Tell me, my King, have you ever smelt burnt flesh? Have you ever seen someone’s eyes bleed, their lips crack and peel?” Without waiting for him to answer, Lena said, “I suppose not. No king has used the pyre in decades, I think.”
“Perhaps I should change it, starting with you.”
The threat slid off her like butter. Oh, how badly she could eat one of the rolls sitting on the table between them. “After all this time, love, do you not know the whole story? Do you not know how fire cannot hurt me?” She might’ve left out the part about the fire being black, but he didn’t need to know all the details.
Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3) Page 15