by Willa Hart
Hmm…Wagu is a Palace Dreg…he has no abilities of the Mind, The Gift cannot be his. My gaze lingers on him, and finally his gaze drops from mine—I’m an Eliterrati, a Roya, after all. For him to hold my gaze that long is impudent at best and treasonous at worst. If he did not have the protection of my Uncle, he’d have been banished long ago.
“The Law is quite clear, should you fail to pick your Queen by end of this year, your right to rule shall terminate and it shall be Katya that is required to find three mates to rule—or House Roya shall be no more.” My Uncle once again stands right in front of me. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, Uncle,” I say, and toss him my most charming grin. “As always, your counsel has made everything very clear to us. Hasn’t it?” I ask, smiling at my brothers.
Such a fucking suck-up, Sarkany thinks but also provides my Uncle a smile.
“Absolutely,” Taraz says, and nods his head toward Uncle.
“Excellent, excellent. I knew you’d see reason soon enough. The North is quite unsettled and there’s nothing like a Royal Wedding to qualm discontent. I remember when your mother wed, it wasn’t so much that she was a good ruler—”
Careful, Sarkany thinks and his body tenses.
“As much as she understood the pageantry of the Royal House,” Uncle says.
Such an asshole, Taraz thinks. He wouldn’t know a good ruler if it bit him on the ass.
“It will be my greatest pleasure to watch the three of you find your Queen tomorrow evening,” Lady Alana says. “Your mother’s joy on the day you find your Queen would know no bounds if she were still here, and I’m blessed to witness that event take place tomorrow.” Lady Alana walks to each of us and kisses us lightly on the cheek. I close my eyes, because often through Lady Alana, I feel the presence of our mother.
“That will be all,” Uncle says, and waves his hands as though shooing flies. “I have much work to complete on your behalf. I’ll be quite pleased to hand it over to you as soon as you’re mated.”
We all three turn to leave.
“Oh, and boys…” Uncle’s voice is curt as though ordering a dog.
We turn back.
“Please remember that should you fail in this task, it’ll be my requirement as Regent to take over the Roya House. I do not wish it, but it’ll be required. Until such time as Katya is mated.”
I glance at Lady Alana; her face is stern and her smile slips from her mouth with Uncle’s words. Though they be true, they’re not what Lady Alana is happy to hear.
“Thank you, Uncle,” I say. “We know what a tremendous burden that would be for you, and that you have no desire to lead the Kingdom.”
“None at all,” Uncle says.
But his thoughts tell all three of us something very different than his words.
Chapter Six
Meela
Steam rises from the washer machine. A giant vat filled with the foulest of bed linens and towels. Eliterrati may look clean and shiny on the outside, and they may have giant brains that give them The Gift—or the Fatal Curse if you’re a Dreg like me—but they’re foul creatures who want nothing more than to have us Dregs wait on them and clean up their messes.
I pour heaping cups of soap into the water and turn my nose and eyes away. The soap burns; snot drips from my nose and tears roll down my cheeks. The hot water and the soap along with my constant stirring will get the stains and stink out, so that the Eliterrati can have fancy, fresh, sheets and linens. Heavy drops of sweat stream down my face and plasters my shirt to the center of my back and it’s not even nine in the morning. Once I beat out the stains, I will dump the barrel full of laundry into the machines to be washed.
“That’s what you get for stealing away on a workday,” Dribble says, and presses his palm into the back of my head, giving me a hearty shove. He knows better than to actually hit me, because each time he hits me or Huali, something painful happens to him, whether it be a headache, a nose bleed, an ear bleed, or a tightening in his chest or muscles. I’ve never told him outright that when he strikes us with his hands, I strike him with my mind in return, but I’ve planted the thought in his head and he’s unconsciously managed (though his mind be dull as a box of rocks) to put these two thoughts together.
“I didn’t steal away,” I say. “It was my free afternoon and last night I helped the butcher.”
“That bitch deserved what she got,” Dribble says. “And laundry Dregs don’t get free afternoons. Or have you forgotten? Your parents sold you and your silly sister to me, so I own you.” His hand reaches toward the curve of my ass as it sometimes does.
He’s such an idiot.
I apply pressure to his ears and his hand pulls back. He shakes his head and opens and closes his mouth trying to relieve the pain.
“The butcher’s wife didn’t have the curse,” I say, “and even though she was innocent, now the children don’t have a mother.”
Dribble leans close to me and lowers his voice. “Shut your filthy mouth, do you understand there are eyes and ears all about? Plus they’re in our minds.” He taps his finger to his temple. “I won’t be having the garrison coming in here and taking my workers away. Just shut it.”
I press my lips closed. I walk to the wall and lift a wooden paddle from a hook. I open one of the washer machines and stir the heavy, wet bedding around, helping the churner do its work.
“Meela,” one of the elderly washer-women calls, “Jix is here for you.”
Dribble gives me a warning glance and shakes his head.
“He’s a member of the Royal household now,” I say. “He’s leaving for the Roya this morning. You really want me to tell him no?”
Dribble pulls his eyebrows close; his thick, slow mind putting all these newfound facts together.
“Royal house? Jix? Why the fuck for?”
“Because he’s smart,” I say. Which is something that Dribble can barely understand as there’s little he respects but brawn and gold.
I walk away from him and out to the front of the laundry before he can even respond.
Jix stands in the front of the laundry with a backpack, his drone, and a bag in which he keeps all his tools.
“Ready to go I see.” I force a smile to my face. “I’m happy for you. This is the best thing that could happen.”
“I told my father and he actually hugged me.” Jix shakes his head in surprise. “Hugged me.”
“And your brothers?”
“Well, they wanted to beat the shit out of me, jealous fucks, but my dad actually took a pitchfork and threatened to stab them if they didn’t get back. Called them animals and told them he’d never be as proud of them as he is of me. Me? Can you believe it? My dad is proud of me.”
“I can believe it, he’s got a lot to be proud of with you, a fancy member of the Royal House—that’s a huge honor for you and your family. Did they send you a transport?”
Jix nods. “And a sack of gold for Dad. He nearly had heart failure when they gave it to him.” He leans forward. “There were nearly two hundred in there,” he whispers.
I lift my eyebrows. “Impressive, you have great value Mr. Jix,” I say, giving him a half-curtsy.
Jix smiles and so do I, but there is silence and then I feel his thoughts; they’re so strong and forceful and wrought with emotion. I can’t quell them fast enough. Pride mixed with melancholy and sadness.
“Be happy,” I say. “We’ll always be friends. I’ll be right here.”
“I’ll come back whenever I can,” he says, “and maybe…maybe I can find a way to get you to the Palace.”
A shiver runs up my spine. What the three Roya brothers and I did in my dreams last night…the four of us together causes a blush to heat my neck and flow to my cheeks. Thankfully, Jix has no ability to read my mind or see my thoughts, because the vision of all three Roya brothers naked in a room with me would do nothing but cause him pain.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says, and steps forward so he’s close to me. The vision
in his mind causes me to blush even further—what he wants to do to me with his hands, his tongue, his cock… I push the thought from my mind. Jix is my friend and if I’m having dreams about three other men, it wouldn’t be fair to be with Jix.
“Come back soon,” I say. I take his hand in mine and give him a kiss on the cheek. I plant the thought of friendship in his mind and am greeted with a thought of disappointment.
Friendship is the best I can do with Jix. I’ve known him my entire life and he is my friend. I can’t imagine a reality where that would be any different. Besides, now that he’s a member of House Roya now, he won’t be messing around with a Ninaku Dreg like me. Besides my dream last night—while during the day I can’t imagine wanting to be with an Eliterrati scum—my dreams told me of the physical desire that I have for the Roya Brothers. In my dreams they fondled my breasts and I stroked each of their giant cocks. I can’t ignore the desire I have for them, though I know that nothing can come from these desires.
Jix starts to walk but turns back to me and lingers. His gaze runs over my body, and for an instant heat and desire overtake him and replace the friendliness that he always presents to me. I feel the heat and a tingle between my legs but tell myself it is because I want the Roya Tripsett, and there is a deep unsatisfied need within me that I must find a way to quell.
“Goodbye, Jix,” I say. “Be well.”
He smiles, though tears cling to his eyes. “You be well too.” Then he disappears into the crowd walking toward the transport that awaits him on the far side of the road. The transport that will take him to his fancy new life in the Palace beside the three Roya brothers that inhabited my dreams last night.
The day drags on. Load after load of filthy laundry. Fridays are the worst day in the laundry and the collectors dump load after load on the dock. Fatigue settles into my bones, because the drop-off every Friday means I shall work through the weekend loading and unloading the giant washer machines, while Dribble gets drunk and finds a different slave-laundress to bed each night.
The shadows grow long and the sun sets in the sky when Huali returns from the Palace. She spills out fast-spoken words to me about her day. Unlike me who is forced to be a laundress and sweat over boiling water, disgusting sheets, and foul-smelling towels, Huali has been trained in the art of sewing. She’s always been prettier and, to be honest, much more compliant. Whatever she’s asked by an elder to do, she does. Except spread her legs; she may be dumb, but she isn’t stupid.
“You should see the grand decorations for the ball!” Huali says. She carries two cloth bags, one filled with more foul-smelling bed and table linens and towels for me to wash and the second silken bag filled with beautiful dresses for her to mend and sew over the weekend. She presses her palms to her cheeks and smiles. “Oh, to be there tonight! When the Roya Tripsett choose the next Queen, how lucky is Jix that this is his first day?”
“I doubt he’ll be going to the ball,” I mumble, and dump the bag of disgusting linens into a basket. My nostrils flair with the horrible scent. “Do they shit in these?” I ask.
Huali gives me a sour look. She adores most everything about the Palace, whereas I don’t. Eliterrati represent what I do not like and what I cannot understand—they’re the same as us, aren’t they? And yet, we’re servants bound to servitude and pain and hunger and foul-smelling work and for what? Why?
“I wish I could wear one of the gowns, oh to go and—” Huali suddenly stops speaking.
“What? What is it?” I ask. I turn to her. Her eyes are like giant saucers with fear strung across her face.
Fear threads through my veins.
“What? Tell me,” I say. What could possibly turn my sweet younger sister’s thoughts so quickly?
“I…” She rushes past me and out of the laundry and into the room where she does all her sewing. “Oh no!” Her words are followed by a wail.
I rush into her sewing room.
“What is it?”
She holds a sea-green gown with golden clasps and diamond beads. “This, oh my Goddess, this!” she wails.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “What could possibly be wrong with this gown?”
“It’s here,” Huali says.
I tilt my head to the right.
“This gown is here, and it’s supposed to be at the Palace…for tonight. Princess Katya is meant to wear this gown tonight.”
“So she’ll wear another,” I say.
“Another? Another?” Huali presses her hands to her face. “Have you any idea what she’ll do to me if she doesn’t have this gown? The last seamstress who failed to deliver a gown on time to Katya had her right hand chopped off.” Huali presses her hand to her mouth, and big tears stream down her face. “Oh Goddess, I do not want to lose a hand. How…how would I sew? I would not be able to sew, and I would never go to the Palace and…and…what would I do?” She wails, more tears stream from her eyes.
“Shh, shh,” I say, looking around the room. I pull the door shut and send my thoughts out to Dribble, who lazy-ass that he is, is sound asleep in the dryer room. “You don’t want Dribble to know.”
“Oh my Goddess, Meela, what do we do? What do I do?” Huali whispers with desperation in her voice.
Panic clutches her mind and the tendrils of fear start to rise and clasp onto my thoughts as well. How can I save Huali…what can I do?
“Take it to her,” I say.
“It’s nearly dark,” Huali says. “I’ll be killed.”
Her statement is true, Dregs of Ninaku are not allowed outside the slum district after dark without prior written dispensation from the Palace and neither Huali nor I have such a thing. I take a deep breath and examine all the possibilities in my mind.
“She will kill me or cut off my hand,” Huali says, raising her right hand
“No, no she won’t,” I say. “Put the dress in a silken bag.” I walk to the other gowns that hang from the rod attached to the ceiling. I pull out a deep burgundy gown. It is unadorned and plain, but silken as all things Eliterrati. The color will blend into the darkness of the night.
“What are you doing?” Huali asks.
I pull my coarse woolen clothes from my body. “Help me!” I hiss.
Huali looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind, but she holds the gown while I step into it and then zips up the back. I pull my hair up. “Clip it please,” I say, knowing that all the Eliterrati will have their hair off their necks.
“Meela,” Huali’s voice trembles as she clips my hair. “If you’re caught you will be…you’ll be…” She can’t say it, but we both know that the punishment for impersonating an Eliterrati is death.
“I won’t get caught,” I say. I send thoughts to Dribble which blanket him with more fatigue and continued sleep. I’ve now made certain that he will not awaken before morning.
“After I leave, let everyone go from the laundry like it’s a normal day. Then lock the front door and go to your room. Bolt the door. I will return by morning. If I don’t return and you’re asked, you have no idea where I went. Do you understand?”
Huali nods. Her eyes are as big as saucers and she’s scared, and truth be told, I’m scared too. I take the green dress in its silken bag from her and kiss her on the cheek.
“Be well,” I say and force a smile. I turn and walk out the front door, but not before I wipe Huali’s mind of the memory of what just happened and send her to her seamstress room with the thought to sit and sew. I’ve planted the rest of her evening in her mind and removed what I’ve just done—I hope it’s enough to be safe.
Now as for me…I must get out of Ninaku and into the Palace without being caught—or I shall surely be dead by morning.
Chapter Seven
Leo
A bird is a bird. I need no Ninaku bird named Meela to satisfy my desires. The waist I hook my arm around is as narrow as the waist of Meela the Dreg, and the breasts I glance at are just as round and firm, but this waist and these breasts belong to an Eliterrati.
Yes, these breasts belong to Marianna, the Eliterrati girl who also happens to be the daughter of House Sansirius—one of the strongest houses in the realm—a house that could someday challenge the Roya House, unless of course Sansirius’s daughter, Marianna, became the Queen for our Tripsett.
She’s quite lovely, this one, with her long blonde hair and dark black skin, dazzling blue eyes, and a body built for sin.
So why in the hell can’t I remove the memory from my brain of the lovely Meela and all the sinful things we did last night together in my dreams?
“Leo, let’s go to your room,” Marianna purrs. She presses her full, round, pleasurable, Eliterrati breasts to my chest.
My cock hardens, because that’s what cocks are meant to do when a bird presses her tits to you. She’s like a kitten ready to lap cream. I’ll gladly provide her pleasure, but unfortunately for Marianna, Sarkany dislikes her. In fact, his exact quote with regards to Marianna possibly being our mate and becoming Queen was: “Over my dead twisted body.”
Sarkany cares nothing for political scheming or governing, or the making of alliances through marriage or children. Sarkany is all about the physical and the visceral and my brother The Bear finds Marianna too slight, too ephemeral, too delicate. He fears he’d crush her when they mated or break her in half when he bends her over his bed. No, Marianna will not do as Queen, for as has been drilled into our heads since birth, The Queen chosen by one must be the Queen chosen by all.
But just because a girl is not meant to be our Queen doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy the pleasure of her flesh.
“My room?” I say. I press her against the wall and stand close. She moans with the press of my hard cock against the V where her legs meet.
“Mmhmm,” she says. She tilts her head so that her long, lush neck is open to me. I press a hot kiss to her soft skin. She rubs my cock with her hand, and I grow harder with the press of her hand against the fabric of my pants.