Bino leaned forward, forced by the powerful legs squeezing around his body. His mouth opened, tongue falling out as he poured his semen into Filtray’s rectum.
He was so lost that he didn’t see the young man pull the knife out from behind him.
His eyes bulged as the top half of Filtray leaned forward, as if to kiss him. He smiled, ready to embrace that kiss—
Filtray’s right hand flashed. The knife slid across Bino’s throat, underneath his lapping tongue and satisfied face.
Blood poured out like a waterfall. Bino made a strange gurgling sound, his vocal cords ruptured, and stumbled back, his softening cock sliding out from Filtray’s rear-end.
The boy made a disgusted face as the blood from Bino’s neck poured onto his own thighs in a heavy sheet. He watched as the man struggled to stay upright, falling over himself as he backpedaled, his pants to his knees, his cock small and flopping now.
Filtray pursed his lips, then catapulted his body off the barrel. He felt droplets of cum and blood fly away.
Bino was trying to reach the edge of the alley, to break out into the street—into the open.
Filtray rushed forward, breeches still ringed around his legs, and grabbed the man’s tunic, then pulled forward, forcing him back into the alley. Bino fell forward against his shoulder, to which Filtray simply side-stepped and shrugged the man off.
The big man crumpled onto the ground in a heap.
Filtray put his boot on the man’s bare ass for a moment, striking a pose, then leaned down and hoisted his heavy hips up, so Bino’s bare buttocks were elevated straight into the air, his face scrunched sideways on the ground, as well as his legs.
Snorting to himself, Filtray wiped his bloodied blade off, studied his handiwork, then pulled his pants up. The mingling of blood and cum was grotesque, but at least it was mostly hidden on his legs . . . his skin . . .
He sighed. “For what it’s worth, Master Bino, you were an excellent lover. Big cock, great form. Two thumbs up.”
Then he wandered out of the alley, sheathing his blade.
He headed back toward the Sleepy Ox, wondering if the rest of the Siblinghood would be awake by now . . . and if they’d interrogate him on where he’d been.
It would be easy to admit that his salacious appetite got the better of him—that he’d gone looking for a male suitor to please and ravish him.
That should shut them up quickly enough.
Then he thought about Nemya’s knowing scowl, which was sure to come. Hey, Filtray thought, if Nemya can suck a cock before bashing a man’s head in with a helmet . . . I can take one in my ass before slitting his throat!
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stecker and Princess Catera stayed belowdeck for most of the day, despite the sun shining brightly on Sefyr City, as if promising a new beginning.
Stecker knew that for him and everyone he knew, there was no going back. Decisions had been made, the princess had been kidnapped, and they’d find no quarter with the king and his minions. Cartherus would not stop his search until Stecker and the Solver Siblinghood had their heads resting on pikes.
Today was the day of the “trade-off”—thirty thousand Royal Sterlings for the return of the princess. That much money would prove to be a deep bite into the coffers of the king, and Stecker had zero confidence that a fair trade would be made.
He was to meet back at the castle with Catera in hand—to find Royal Advisor Rink—alone besides the princess, and make the transaction.
How foolish did the king think he was, though? Alberus had made it clear that Cartherus would never stand for such impertinence, and Stecker had thought the same before he even brought the issue to his former boss’ attention.
Plus, Stecker had made a promise to Filtray. The young man had always been his favorite member of the Siblinghood—he reminded him of himself, in some ways—and he saw the benefit of sending the dandy to speak with him. Whether Filtray had come to the Wolfpack on his own volition or not was debatable. But his intentions were true and pure, Stecker knew.
Even with all the backlash and hurtful remarks dealt at the hand of Dered Brich, Filtray did not want to see his brother tortured and killed. And neither did Stecker.
After all, it had been Dered who protected their escape from the underground tunnels; Dered who had made the world a safer place for them. That couldn’t go unnoticed, and Stecker didn’t have it in his mind to let it.
Before leaving, he made frenetic love to Princess Catera one last time. Sitting naked at the edge of the bed afterward, while Catera panted and composed herself, he drew in a long breath.
“You’re worried,” Catera said. “About today.”
Stecker nodded without turning to her. “For good reason, I should think.”
“You don’t have to do this, Ano.”
He puffed out his cheeks, then sighed. “I do, Catera. I don’t expect you to understand, but Dered is a brother and—”
“I do understand, Stecker.”
“Right.”
“You’re much too good for those people. You know that, don’t you?”
Though she meant it as a compliment, the comment made Stecker frown. It was backhanded, in a way, to mention that he was somehow different than his Solver brethren. “No, Cat, I am the same as them. If anything, I’m worse.”
Catera sat up, resting against the wall behind the cot. “I knew you’d say that.”
Stecker turned to look over his shoulder at her. “It isn’t self-pity that drives me. I swear it. But I abandoned them, Cat. I have to make it right.”
She nodded, then blinked away tears. Going on her hands and knees, she crawled over the cot to him, her heavy breasts wobbling as she moved, then put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, sweetheart. I just want to see you again.”
“And you shall.” He put a hand on his own shoulder, on top of hers.
“You can’t promise that.”
He stood, found his clothes on the floor, and stretched them on. “I know, Catera. That’s why I haven’t.” He hitched his dagger belt on his waist, then threw his muddy black cloak over his shoulders. He nodded to her, preparing to leave.
“Come here,” she demanded.
He walked to her and crouched. Leaning over the edge of the cot, Catera kissed him on the mouth. “Don’t get yourself killed, Ano Stecker.”
He smiled as he reluctantly pulled away. It would have been so easy to jump back onto that mattress, wrap his arms around the princess’ soft, curvy body, melt into her flesh, and go nowhere. He knew he could convince Captain Journigan to take them with the crew, whenever they set sail.
Instead, he said, “I think I love you, Princess.”
A slow smile crept up her face. “And I you.”
Then he left.
Before descending down the gangplank, he approached Captain Journigan at the wheel of the ship. The captain looked out at the blockade on the horizon, the ships dancing on the water like ants.
Frowning, he turned to Stecker. “Yer leavin’ the princess in my care. A dangerous move, Steck.”
He scoffed. “The danger, Journ, is in trusting you.”
Barking a laugh, the captain patted Stecker hard on the shoulder. “Now yer gettin’ it, lad!”
Stecker’s face became serious. “Promise me something, Journigan, please.”
The tall man’s beard covered his frown.
“If I don’t return, take the princess with you—wherever you go. Don’t give her to the bastard royals.”
Journigan’s keg-sized belly puffed out. “You ask a lot of me, boy.”
“It’s because I trust you, as dangerous as it may be.”
“Do you know the kind of coin I could get for that pretty lass’ ass?”
“A pretty penny, yes.”
Silence. The two stared at each other, Stecker’s dark brown orbs locking with the steel gray of the captain.
After a long moment that dragged on, the captain took his wide-brimmed hat off, rubbed his balding pa
te, and nodded once. “You have my word, Stecker.”
Stecker touched Journigan’s burly arm. “Thank you, old friend.”
Then he disembarked from the Wolfpack.
HE HAD A TWO HOURS before the rendezvous with King Cartherus was to take place. First, he found a cart near the ship and got himself a terrible, soupy fish bowl to eat. He threw the remnants of his meal into the river water and left the docks.
Rather than heading straight for Sefyr Castle, Stecker made a stop near the docks—still in the poor district of town. He made his way into the industrial region, where storefronts, tailors, and leatherworkers lined the streets, spinning their wares and putting them out to be sold. The smell of dyed hide and stripped leather made him gag as he walked by.
This area of the city was less inhabited by merchants and traveling traders, and more inhabited by generational citizens who had acquired their stores from their parents, and would pass down the family trade for generations.
Stecker knew the place well, and he thought he recognized a few of the grizzly, pruned faces staring at him through window fronts as he marched by.
He made his way to Somual’s Trimmings, a small building with a tattered awning overhead, and black painted wood at the front to denote its meaning.
Stepping in through the door, the man behind the counter raised his head from his work and fixed Stecker with a crude eye. He wore spectacles that made his eyes twice as big as they should be, and when he blinked it was a frightening sight, like a maddened insect. He was an older man, easily twice Stecker’s age, with a completely white head of wispy hair.
“Ano Stecker, what in the name of Uncle Freders are you doing here?”
Freders was the man who had bequeathed the shop to Somual, the man who Stecker now stared at. In front of the old man were metal trimmings and workings and a chest filled with ornate keys.
Stecker walked forward and absentmindedly sifted through the chest of keys. Most of them were moldy or rusting. “Somual, it’s good to see you, too.”
“What can I help you with? It’s been years, aye.”
“I need a special key, sir.”
“Of course you do. To get in somewhere, or get out?”
“The latter.”
The man grunted. He rubbed his red, ruddy cheeks.
“You helped construct the Sefyr Castle jailhouse,” Stecker said matter-of-factly.
“Aye, but it was years ago,” Somual said, “during King Contrus’ time. No telling what’s changed in there. Locks and formats change all the time.”
Stecker smiled. “I’ll have to take my chances, old man.”
“Ah,” Somual said, his face stern. “Brash and arrogant, just like your father.”
Stecker’s smile remained.
“What are you doing needing to escape the jailhouse?”
“Do you really want to know that?”
“No.”
After a moment of silence, the old man grumbled to himself and turned away. Stecker could hear him rummaging through some things in a different room—the sound of metal clinking, chests being moved around and sifted on the floor.
When he returned, he tossed something onto the dirty counter in front of Stecker and grunted. It came to a bouncing stop near the younger man’s hand.
“I could be killed for giving you that,” Somual said. “If it ever gets back to me that I gave it to you.”
Stecker smiled, lifted the small apparatus in his hand and examined it close by his face. Then he opened his mouth, tossed it in, and swallowed the small piece of metal, grimacing as it went down.
He met Somual’s gaping gaze, and grinned. “I’ll make sure that never happens, Somual.”
He gave the man a two-fist pump salute and left the shop.
THE PATH TO SEFYR CASTLE was a long one from the southernmost region of the city, and most of it was uphill. He passed over winding roads and bridges, gaining the middle-class district, then skirting around the Town Square where all the merchants haggled and yelled at each other.
He took a carriage—free of charge by jumping onto its back spoke and riding it for a bit through town—and that helped shave some minutes off his arrival.
When he came to the front gate of Sefyr Castle, he was pretty sure he’d made the meeting time almost perfectly.
He stretched his arms out wide as he approached the huge gate and its stone wall streaming off on either side, his dagger belt unclasped and hanging from one forearm. Two large tower spires loomed overhead, on the other side of that wall, their shadows casting for hundreds of feet into the city.
Four guards left the portcullis of the main gate and marched cautiously toward him, spears at the ready.
“I’m here to speak with King Cartherus Sefyr about the return of his stepdaughter, Princess Catera,” he announced.
“We were told you would be arriving with the princess,” the foremost guard said, adjusting his helmet and raising his visor.
“Indeed. Unfortunately, that is impossible.”
“Why?”
Stecker shrugged. “I’ll speak to the king about that.”
“Like hell you will.” The man lunged forward, spun his spear in a blur, and rammed the blunt end of the pole into Stecker’s stomach. The thief doubled over with a gasp and dropped his dagger belt.
Stecker had practically guaranteed himself that this would’ve been the outcome even if he’d arrived with the princess in tow. So, he simply flexed and let the blows rain down on him. Kicks and swinging sticks knocked into him, bruising him, tearing into his muscles, working him over.
He grunted and rolled around on the ground, dust rising from his fall and the subsequent beating he took.
“This is for poor Princess Catera!” the leading guard growled.
Stecker hesitantly raised his face. Blood dripped from his mouth, and his left eye was almost entirely closed shut.
The guard brought down his spear on the back of Stecker’s head. A wave of colors shot through his mind, then blackness as he sprawled onto his stomach and slipped into unconsciousness.
“NO DOUBT THE MAN HAS a plan,” King Cartherus grunted from his throne chair, leaning heavily to one side so he could rest his chin on his fist.
“Indeed, sire,” Rink said, bowing. “The man does seem to be a resourceful, wily fellow.”
Cartherus grunted. “Well, break it out of him. Keep him in the dungeons for a while before you break him too badly. Who knows, maybe he will crack under pressure?”
“Perhaps, my lord.”
“I want to know why he would show up at the trade-off without the princess. Why would he show up at all, in fact . . . unless he knew the outcome he was to receive?”
Rink smiled his blackened, gap-ridden smile. It was a frightening look combined with his bulging bug-eyes. “We will discover the end goal of his treachery, my lord. You can count on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I would like to go into the city proper, Stepfather,” Princess Ocena said, head raised high in apparent defiance. She wore a regal gown and had her hands tucked away in the sleeves, hidden as they connected at the cusps. “My wardrobe grows stale.”
King Cartherus snorted. “We will send a maiden to acquire all you wish—”
“No, I wish to make my own purchases. I’ve not stepped foot in the city in weeks, and I would like to mingle with the commonfolk. It could be a benefit, letting them see me. Raise morale and such.”
Leaning forward from his throne, Cartherus narrowed his eyes. “You foolish girl. You wish to do something so brash during a time like this? When your sister is missing and the Royal Guard is on full alert?”
She shrugged, completely indifferent to his concerns. “Then I should be even safer, my lord. Go ahead, send a contingent of guards with me—I don’t mind. You know I won’t try to run.”
“Yes, you tried that before . . . and look how well it turned out.”
A flash of anger and something like fear crossed the brave princess’ face
. “I-I . . . I also wish to look for some . . . baby clothes.”
Cartherus smirked darkly. “Fine,” he drawled. “But you’ll have twenty guards with you, and no less. Understand me?”
“Yes, my lord,” Ocena said. She curtsied, tugging her gown, the orange bun of hair on top of her head drooping forward.
As she walked away, she fondled the letter she’d recently received, hidden underneath her robes, but managed to hide her own dark smirk.
STECKER NURSED HIS wounds in the hideous chambers of the jail cell. His lip was busted, his eye was black and bruised shut, and he felt as though a few ribs were broken. His back ached, as if his spine was twisted. His mouth was dry, lips cracked, tongue feeling like a leathery blob of sand on the roof of his mouth. The back of his head throbbed with a dull pain that turned sharp every so often.
Alas, it was not Stecker’s first stay in the Sefyr Royal jailhouse, an underground, malodorous structure that housed the worst criminals of the city. There were other jailhouses and prisons around Sefyr, and this held only twenty or so criminals, but they were all on the list of royal offenders—traitors, backstabbers, treasonous rebels. People whom the king or his royal advisor could question, then have silently executed without the greater public being any the wiser.
He had hoped to never find himself here again. But here he was—imprisoned behind those damnable bars by his own doing.
When he sighed, it hurt, the ache creeping up his chest to stab at his damaged lungs. He hoped he didn’t have any serious internal bleeding, but he knew he would find out in short order.
Also, in short order, that would be the least of his problems.
If Rink had his way, Stecker would be the benefactor of an overabundance of external bleeding.
Before sliding away like the snake he was, Rink stared down at the heaped form of Stecker and licked his lips. “Your torture will begin in a matter of hours, unless you wish to admit to something now? Tell us where the princess is, perhaps? Where have you kept her, Ano Stecker?”
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