by Ava Sinclair
I’m glad he does not completely strip at first. I know what raises the front of his skirt. His cock. I am not ready to see this thing he will put between my legs. Neither am I ready for him to join me on the bed and reach for the hem of my shift. I cry out in surprise as he pulls it over my head. I reflexively start to cross my arms over my chest, but the king stops me, his large hands capturing my thin wrists and holding them fast.
“No.” He shakes his head and gently pulls my arms down, his gaze fixed on my breasts. The look he gives me makes me shudder. “You must never hide yourself, my little queen. Looking on you is a long-awaited pleasure.”
“I’m not too…small?”
“You are tiny, but passion increases the appetite. You’ll soon recover your fullness, but know that I burn for you as you are; each time I looked at you tonight, I thought of how it would feel to suckle those sweet little breasts, how blissful it would be to lodge myself in your tight, quivering warmth.”
“Your highness!” I flush at his frank talk, but something about his words—about being wanted—causes an odd stirring low in my belly that starts as a fluttering pulse then turns into a throb that centers between my legs.
He leans over, his mouth against my ear. “Drakoryans have heightened senses. I can see the flicker of passion in your eyes. I can smell the sweet dew forming between your white thighs.”
Another shudder, this one stronger as his tongue snakes out to lick the shell of my ear. King Bymir lifts my hair, planting his lips to my neck then following the column of my throat to my sharp collarbone. He lays me back, tracing the curve of my collarbone to the center of my chest, then laps his tongue lower until his mouth is between breasts he covers with his hands.
His palms are so hot. I feel my nipples grow tight and achy, and when his fingers find those tender peaks to give them a gentle twist, it’s as if an invisible chord reaching from my breasts to the achy place between my legs as if tugged. The throb intensifies, and I gasp.
“What is happening?” I ask. I’m suddenly afraid. My body is experiencing sensations I’ve never felt.
“It’s passion, little queen. Your body calls to mine.” He takes his hand and guides it under his skirt, wrapping my fingers around a warm, thick rod of flesh. “See how my body answers?”
I don’t have to ask to know what I’m holding. King Bymir reaches back and unclasps his leather skirt. It falls, and I am able to look at what I’m holding in my hand. It’s huge, thick, and growing warmer. The surface seems to pulse like a living thing. The flared head reminds me of a battering ram. And that’s what it is. He will breach me with this thing. But I cannot understand how this will happen.
“You’ll tear me apart. If you put this in me, I’ll surely die!”
“You will, but it will be a small death, my virgin queen, and you’ll come back a woman.”
“What?” I glance up at him, stricken, but he’s already lowering me to the bed.
“Hush now. Let me show you.”
I’m trembling like a leaf in the wind as this huge, naked king looms over me, his hot hands moving over the surface of my body. He’s soothing me, gentling me and the achy little throb between my legs is beginning again and grows stronger when his hands travel to my lower belly.
“Show yourself to me.” King Bymir parts my thighs. I couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to, and despite my fear I don’t want to resist him. He spreads my legs, revealing the mound of my virgin pussy, the outer lips pressed together, the seam of them yet unbreached. He will be my first. Bymir reaches down. I feel his finger delve into my slit, sliding over the inner folds, moving up until he touches a spot that makes me cry out and arch my back.
He smiles down at me. “The bud of your pleasure is hidden beneath a tiny hood. I will coax it out. Tell me what you feel. Your king commands it.”
The authority in his voice sends a shudder through me. I close my eyes. He’s shifting on the bed. I feel hot breath against the mound of my pussy. My eyes fly open. His head is between my legs. What is he doing? I close my eyes again. I want to ask, but the words die in my throat when his tongue traces the path his finger just took, sliding up through my slit.
I remember his order. “I…oh…by the gods! I feel…hot…pulsing…a heartbeat…but not in my chest…there. Down there! Oh! Stop, my king! I cannot take such a feeling!”
He does not stop. Instead, Bymir slides his huge hands underneath me to cup my small buttocks. He tugs me towards his mouth. He’s lapping greedily now. I feel wetness flow with my pleasure. The little bud he’s so masterfully stroked with finger and tongue is now captured in a gentle sucking bite. I scream. The throb has become a quake that becomes something indescribable. A shattering. I sink and swirl into a void. I’m dying. He’s killing me.
But no, I’m still here.
His body slides up over mine. His face is slick and smells of sweet musk. Bymir tells me this is my essence, and it is good. He kisses me, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. I taste myself, taste my own arousal.
“You must be brave.” He is between my legs, his hand moving between us to fist his giant cock. I stare down. It’s too big. But in his hand it seems to change shape, become thinner. He slides into me. It does not hurt. Then I feel it. His cock is growing, swelling, pulsing. I wriggle beneath him, but he holds me fast, whispering wait, wait…There is a moment of pain, but my cry is lost in the mouth that covers mine.
He begins to move and the discomfort recedes, replaced by a throb in my pussy that cries out for more. His movements are steady. My body, clumsy to this new bliss, tries to find the rhythm. Bymir helps me, his hands beneath me as he guides me.
I understand now. I feel something winding inside of me, a delicious tension coiling more and more with each increasingly hard thrust. I wrap my slim white arms around his shoulder, moaning in a voice I’d never recognize as mine.
“My little queen. So sweet. So passionate.” Deep whispers fill my ear, fill my heart. He’s so strong, yet so gentle. He is thrusting faster. The coil of tension releases, sending rushes of pleasure through my body that are so strong everything momentarily goes black. My last memory before opening my eyes is going weak in the strong arms that hold me.
He’s smiling down into my eyes. My mate. My lover. My king. I understand now. The pleasure I felt, that was the tiny death. He has spent inside of me, his hot seed mixing with my virgin blood and arousal. He has made me a woman. His woman.
Bymir rolls on his side, taking me into the circle of his arms. I feel entirely safe. He is my king and will protect me from everything, even the awful dreams of an experience I can’t fully remember. He will make me forget. All will be well now.
I’m sure of it.
Chapter 13
Prince Rargi
I’ve heard men speak of a woman losing her virginity. I think this is wrong.
A woman doesn’t lose her virginity. She emerges from it, like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon that restrained it.
When our brother king enters the hall with Zara after their mating, I instantly note the transformation. Queen Zara is still tiny, but she carries herself differently now. Her pale skin has more color; her green eyes contain a woman’s knowing.
Not a scrap remained from the feast. In normal times, we would have the table spread for a breakfast feast today. We still eat well; this is the king’s castle, after all. But there are no brimming bowls of fruit or whole roasted pigs on the table.
Queen Zara doesn’t seem to notice. She’s perfectly content with a fare of crusty white bread, fingerfish, and oat porridge topped with dried fruit and drizzled with honey,
“You look well this morning, Queen Zara. I trust you had a pleasant evening?”
She may no longer be a virgin, but she still flushes like one. I’m charmed, and over her head I catch Bymir’s wink. I’m piling my bowl and plate high when Yrgi walks in. Next to the king, he’s the happiest man in the castle at this moment, for tonight the queen will be his.
He
walks over and boldly takes her hand. “Your Highness.” He bows low. “You look radiant and happy.” He nods at her plate. “Your appetite seems to have returned. Eat all you want. You’ll need your strength.”
She flushes again and shifts in her chair. I can’t stop staring, especially when I notice how her nipples visibly harden beneath the fabric of her bodice. This little slip of a female is passionate.
“Has anyone seen Oneg?” Bymir turns his attention to us.
“Still abed,” Yrgi says. “One of the maids said he took a flagon of wine to his room last night.”
Our king brother frowns. “A headache won’t improve his foul mood.”
“No,” I agree. “But perhaps it will give him something to focus on until tomorrow night.” I glance over, aware that my comment has made the queen tense. As the first to fall in the battle of brothers, I will be the last to take her. Yrgi will have her tonight, then Oneg. Once I have taken her, we will achieve the Deepening—the sacred ritual in which our minds are joined as our bodies have joined.
With other houses, a woman is not considered bound until the Deepening has occurred. But royal families are different. We are able to crown and declare our mate and queen before we take her, for since the dawn of our kind every queen and her royal mates have Deepened. The union is considered fated and failproof.
Still, I can tell it irks Bymir that our petulant brother got too far into his cups to pull himself from bed and join us at breakfast.
Queen Zara is eating a second small helping of porridge, and it’s all I can do not to smile when I think of how daintily she ate the night before. But she needs more than food. As she puts her spoon down, she suppresses a yawn.
“Are you tired, my queen?” Yrgi asks.
“A bit.” She smiles shyly. “I slept, but…”
“She was awakened,” Bymir clarifies with a proud smile. “Twice.”
“Your Majesty, please.” Zara casts her eyes downward.
“There is no need to be modest.” I lean over, catching her eye. “You will fuck all of us. We will speak of it with one another, of the things we do to you, of the things you do to us. We embrace the carnal arts. We enjoy them. And you are unrestrained in this regard as well. You will have ladies to attend you, your sister. Do not treat the subject of bedsport as something secretive or shameful.”
“It was not the way in my village,” Zara confides. “True, the village wives would whisper of what they did with their husbands, but they were not so open.”
“You are no longer a village girl. You are Zara, Queen of the Drakoryan Empire.” The king covers his hand with hers. “And nothing makes us prouder than to have your ladies return home to their lords with tales of how the king and his prince brothers are keeping the Queen filled and satisfied.” He pauses. “Do you think you can become accustomed to our ways?”
“I will try, Your Highness.”
Bymir smiles reassuringly at her, then summons a maid. “The queen is in need of rest. Take her to her chambers. See that she is bathed and allowed to nap undisturbed. She will be engaged tonight, and a sleep would do her good.”
Chapter 14
Queen Zara
Will I ever get used to having all my needs met?
With just a command, a maid hastens to guide me to my chamber, where I’m passed off to several ladies who have stayed behind for the honor of tending to me. My sister is not among them. Isla had wanted to remain, but I’d urged her to return home to her lords. She has given so much already, and I need to rely less on Isla and more on myself, anyway. She has sheltered me all our lives. I know when the ShadowFell took me how she blamed herself for hiding instead of trying to save me, although surely she’d have been killed or captured if she’d tried. I know my sister suffered with worry while I was gone, and was the one who insisted I be taken to the witches to be healed when I was found wasting away from the dark spell I was under.
Had I not gone to the witches, I’d not be queen now. I’d be dead, and the Mystic Mountain would still be closed to the enemy who used me to crack open the secret chambers where the deep magic they sought was housed.
I think of Prince Oneg’s words. He is right. I directly benefited from the tragedy that ended the Drakoryan’s historic protection of the Mystic Mountain. Were it not for me, the witches who relied on the Drakoryan protection and advised them in return would not have retreated Inward. Without me, the ShadowFell would not have gained the key to the humanity they craved. Were it not for the ShadowFell king having wanted me for his queen, would the Drakoryans have chosen me?
If Isla had stayed, she’d not hear of my concerns, not that I can voice it to anyone else. Despite how I came to be queen, or why, my station seems to please the people. In the wake of King Vukuris’ death, the installation of a new king and a queen has restored something important to the people.
I only hope I can live up to their expectations, to redeem myself for the guilt that I wear along with my crown.
A bath is prepared in my chamber. Natural depressions in the pink floor are fed by hot springs. I sink into the steaming water scented with rosewater and spice. My body is still delightfully sore from the king’s attentions. There is a healing quality to this spring similar to that of the healing pools in the lower part of the castle. I exit the pool feeling languid and pain-free.
Before I was crowned, I had another fine room in the castle. But my new chambers are unlike anything I could ever imagine. The frame and canopy of my bed are of stone carved in a delicate vine pattern. Sheer panels drape to the floor. The feather bed itself is topped by the downiest cover and softest pillow imaginable. I nestle in, clean and cocooned— a protected queen in her new, perfect world.
I am slumbering in minutes, my sleep restful until I am stirred awake by the sound of my name being called. I feel irritation as I am roused. My last memory is of a lady hustling everyone out and telling them I was not to be disturbed.
I start to drowsily reply, sitting up in my bed, then decide I must have imagined what I’d heard, and start to drift back off to sleep.
“Zara.”
I sit back up with a start. I was not mistaken. A voice is calling my name. A male voice.
I pull my blanket up to my chest. What man would be in my chamber? Then it occurs to me that it is probably Prince Yrgi, who is next to take me. I peer around the room, looking for him.
“Prince Yrgi, I am not to see you until tonight, and then I am to come to your chamber. Why are you here?”
“Zara…”
My name is more breathed than spoken. Hairs rise on the back of my neck. The voice is not Yrgi’s. I clutch the blanket tighter, looking warily around the large room.
“Who’s there?”
“Your mate.” The voice is deep. The voice is familiar. “Your true mate.”
I feel a whimper rise in my throat. I push myself against one of the posts, peering wildly around the room. I hear a deep rumble from a passageway off my room. I open my mouth to scream but am too afraid to make a noise. I see red eyes in the dark, but it’s not a dragon that steps out.
It’s a man. He’s tall, with long black hair. He wears black breeches, black boots, but no shirt. He is not as broad as the Drakoryans, but is still well-muscled. His face is sharp-featured and beautiful, if a man can be called beautiful. But his eyes…they burn with something ancient and dark and commanding.
“Don’t you recognize me?”
I cannot answer. I am struck dumb, my body locked motionless on the bed. The dark man walks over to my bed at an almost leisurely pace.
“It’s me, King Seadus. Have you forgotten? After my kind gained the Deep Magic to give us the power to change, I wanted to return to you. But there is an art to controlling the transformation from man to dragon and back again. It made me and my generals weak, and for now, I can only visit you in your dreams.” He lunges for me, his hands catching me by the upper arms as he pulls me forward. In my mind I scream, for I can feel the burning of my skin where his han
ds make contact. His dark eyes flash red as his beautiful face becomes contorted with rage. “I was coming for you, but you married another. Wretched slattern! Faithless whore!” He squeezes me harder, jerking me to him so his face is inches from mine. “You let the Drakoryan king take your maidenhead. You let him take what was mine!”
I struggle to speak. It takes all my energy, and when I do, he seems surprised. “I told you when you were a dragon that I would never be yours.” I stare into his eyes, not caring if he kills me. I will have him hear my truth. “Did I not tell you?”
His face softens. He smiles, but there is something wicked in his beauty, and I tremble when I feel his hot breath in my ear. “Yes. And I burned you for it. And I will burn you again, soon enough. I will burn you and those you love, starting with your king. I will burn his prince brothers. Then I will burn you, but only after the God of Dark Places has cast a new spell over you, one that slows your agony for days and days.
“I will kill all the lords, and give your beloved sister Isla to General Bralox, the dragon who stole you from Branlock. Then I will choose another queen, and the line of the ShadowFell will continue, stronger both as man and dragon than the Drakoryans ever were.”
He moves his mouth to my forehead and kisses me. The kiss burns, but not as badly as his threat. Despite my attempts to be brave, I begin to scream. And scream. And scream.
I don’t stop until one of the ladies shakes me awake to tell me I’ve had a nightmare, and that I am fine in my own bed. Yet I remain distraught, and the king is summoned over my protests.
I have a new fear now. I cannot tell him of my dream. The empire is counting on me to be strong, not some weak woman so overwrought by dreams she cannot fulfill her duties.