“She has to fall in love with us?” Orlann crossed the private dining room toward the liquor cart and half-filled a glass from the decanter of the darkest alcohol.
“With one of us, anyway,” Jude confirmed, amused by his brother’s contemptuous snort.
“In love.” Orlann repeated. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Malac arched one brow at him. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept of love?”
“I am skeptical that it’s anything more than a fairy tale, and I’m unfamiliar with its relevance to conception.” Orlann took a long sip, then he turned to Jude. “You had the doctor knock up your wife. Why can’t we just do that with Maari?”
Jude exhaled, fighting for patience. “Because Maari isn’t my wife. She’s my concubine.”
“Our concubine,” Malac interrupted, quick to emphasize his claim to her, as always, despite his anger at her for trying to run away, an offense he seemed to consider a personal rejection.
“Fine. Our concubine” Jude conceded. “But my point is that the council gave her to all three of us specifically so that we wouldn’t know who the father of her children is. And there’s no way to implant an embryo inside her without knowing whose it is.”
Orlann scowled. “Can’t they just cook up three embryos, one from each of our seed, and then just mix up the test tubes until they lose track of which is which, and implant one at random?”
Malac rolled his eyes. “It’s in vitro, not a game of Find The Lady.”
“Is there really that much of a difference between what we’re doing and a sleight-of-hand card trick? I mean, Maari’s basically on a merry-go-round made of dicks. Would it ultimately be much different to just mix up a few embryos and shove one into her at random?”
“That is not how in vitro works,” Jude repeated. “And even if it were, we don’t know the details of her…ability. And neither does she. If she can keep her body from ovulating, it’s entirely possible that she can deny it the hormones necessary to maintain a pregnancy.” Which meant that forcing ovulation through chemical means might also be a doomed strategy.
“But would she do that?” Malac asked. “It’d be her child too.”
“A child she doesn’t want to have.” Jude exhaled slowly. “Yet, anyway.”
“I say we try in vitro.” Orlann punctuated his assertion by draining his glass.
“Hormones,” Malac said. “Let’s just shoot her up with hormones and make her release a fucking egg.”
“What happened to your theory about attracting flies with honey?” Orlann asked as he crossed the room and sat at the dining room table, which hadn’t yet been cleared from the meal where he’d forced Maari to orgasm via remote control, while they’d eaten their dinner. Jude had to admit that as punishments went, that was about the hottest one he’d ever seen.
“She ran.” The hard edge to Malac’s tone was honed by anger, but beneath that, Jude could hear the thin trickle of something even more powerful. Something that, over time, could carve a canyon through the Defense Commander’s soul, like an innocuous flow of water slowly cutting its way through solid rock.
Pain.
Maari had hurt Malac when she’d run. He had believed, until that moment, that while she might tolerate Jude and Orlann, she’d truly liked him, at least on some level. Until she’d tried to flee the palace.
Orlann rolled his eyes. “You’re just pissed that she didn’t throw herself at you when you offered to marry her. What the fuck were you thinking, anyway? You can’t marry her.”
Divergent emotions flickered across Malac’s expression, as if he weren’t sure whether to disagree or to insist he no longer wanted the princess whose rejection had wounded him. “Why not?” he asked at last.
“Because the council didn’t just give her to us to merge our bloodlines.” Jude grasped for patience as he explained something Malac still couldn’t seem to grasp. “Though that was a large part of it. The Chancellor would not have let us take a princess if the council didn’t also intend to punish Stead Delayne for assassinating our father. Claiming their princess as a concubine is an ongoing humiliation to Stead Delayne.”
“You’re saying that it’s humiliating to be a concubine? Like my mother?”
Jude stifled a groan, then he lifted his chin and barged right through an awkwardness he was more than used to navigating. “For a princess? Yes. The fact that it’s unpleasant for you to hear doesn’t make it any less true. It is intentionally insulting for both Maari and Stead Delayne that we have turned a princess into a concubine, destined to bear us illegitimate children who will never know their fathers’ identities.”
Malac stood, seething, fists clenched. “That is—”
“Sit,” Orlann commanded softly, in a tone any of his fellow planetary council members would have recognized. “You know who your father is. He always acknowledged you. It won’t be the same for Maari’s brood.”
“Children don’t deserve that. They don’t ask to be brought into the world as pawns. To punish people they’ve never even met.”
“That’s only the outside perspective,” Jude assured him. “We will love them all. They will want for nothing. But the public needs to see them as both a bridge between two rival steads and as a reminder to the rest of the world that you can’t just assassinate the king of a neighboring stead, then move on, unscathed.”
“And you don’t think the war taught them that?”
“Both sides suffered in the war.” Jude’s quiet observation was a reminder to the Defense Commander that he was responsible not just for Stead Camden’s victories, but also for its losses, a point Malac accepted like a rebuke. “We have to make sure the world sees, now that the fighting is over, that there was a clear victor. And a clear loser. Elevating Maari’s status through marriage to a prince would undermine that message.”
Malac’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jude. “So, I’m a prince now? But only when that fits some point you want to make? Any other time, I’m just your bastard brother.”
“You are an acknowledged bastard. A prince with no title.” Admittedly, Malac’s complicated status left plenty of gray area to be manipulated as he saw fit. As was his right as both king and the oldest brother.
That gray area gave Jude a convenient objection to Malac’s hypothetical marriage to Maari, without requiring him to admit that in truth, he would never let Malac marry her because Maari belonged to him.
“Beyond the question of her status, if she were married, people would assume her husband to be the father of her children,” Orlann pointed out. “And that is not what the council wants.”
“You cannot marry her,” Jude declared, his voice soft but firm. “And I will hear no further discussion on the matter.”
Malac clenched his jaw to hold back the objection he clearly wanted to make. Then he leaned across the table and grabbed Maari’s virtually untouched glass of wine, which he drained. “So, how does this work?” he asked at last, making an obvious attempt to move past the disagreement as he set the empty glass down. “Whichever one of us she falls for is the one whose seed her body accepts?”
Jude’s brow furrowed. “I hadn’t considered that, but I would think that the emotional—and, one would assume, hormonal—change only triggers ovulation. At which point her egg could be breached by any sperm. But I suppose we’ll need some more specifics on how this ability of hers works, in order to be sure.”
Malac stood from his seat at the table. “So, are we still going forward with tonight’s plans?”
“Are we going to take her all at once? Yes. She did fail to comply with her punishment for running.”
Orlann arched one brow at him. “Not that I really care, but are you under the impression that taking her together will somehow make her fall for one of us?”
“No,” Jude admitted. “But I told her what the consequence would be, and she has to know that my threats are not empty. There will be time to figure out this ovulation issue later.”
“Not too
much later.” Malac crossed the dining room and pulled the door open. “We’re running out of time.” Then he stepped into the hall and slammed the door at his back.
Orlann turned to Jude, as the king sank into his seat at the head of the table with a frustrated sigh. “You do realize you’ve just made this worse, right?”
“I’ve made this worse? What the hell does that mean?”
“Malac was pissed at her. He was ready to drop the whole marriage idea, because his poor bastardly feelings were hurt. Then you told him he couldn’t, under any circumstances, marry the princess—which would effectively turn him into a true prince—and now he’s determined to do just that. Like a three-year-old who just has to press the one button he’s been told not to touch.”
“Malac is more dangerous than any three-year-old,” Jude said, as his brother’s point sank in.
Orlann shrugged. “I don’t know. Look at the hell your four-year-old daughter unleashed upon us all by visiting Maari. Twice.”
“Fair point,” Jude conceded. “But angry or not, he wasn’t giving up on marrying her. He was just waiting for her to regret her initial reaction and beg him for the privilege.”
“Well, maybe it’s better this way. We could just let her fall in love with him, at least long enough for her to get pregnant.”
Jude lifted one eyebrow. “Do you think there’s still any chance of that, after the way he acted in there?”
“I think she’ll be so relieved to be rid of Malac-the-psychopath that she’ll welcome Malac-the-lover with open arms.” Orlann stood and retrieved the box containing his toy from the table. “I say we give him a chance to unleash his charm. I’ll meet you in there once I’ve cleaned this and returned it to my collection.”
“Fine,” Jude grumbled. As badly as he hated the idea of giving Malac more time alone with their princess, Orlann had a valid point. So far, anyway, their oft-charming younger brother stood the best chance of seducing Maari. Assuming he could keep his temper in check.
2
Maari
Maari paced the entire length of her room, past the bed, the dresser and the small table and chairs in front of the only window. Then she turned and retraced her steps. Over and over.
Twice, she made a detour toward the closet, where her small collection of robes and simple dresses hung. She wanted to put one on. But Jude and Malac were already pissed at her, and if she were clothed when they returned… Well, things certainly wouldn’t get any easier. So she resisted the temptation of the skimpy silks and satins and continued pacing.
The door opened as she was headed toward the table again, and she spun around, startled, to find Malac standing in the doorway. Alone.
Her gaze flicked over his shoulder, where she expected Jude and Orlann to appear, and as apprehensive as she was about the idea of having all three of them inside her at once—punishment for orgasming without permission, during dinner—Malac had scared her badly enough, earlier, to make the thought of being alone with him feel like the greater of two evils.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he pushed the door closed at his back, and as surprised as she was by the greeting, when he stepped toward her, she flinched back. “Princess. You have to know I wasn’t going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
That wasn’t true. He had hurt her. She was still sore from having the toy suddenly ripped from her back passage. But after three months with the Camden brothers, Maari had begun to measure pain on a sliding scale, and regardless of the youngest prince’s temper and his terrifying skill as a soldier, it was Orlann, the scholar and political councilor, who was the bringer of pain.
Malac had never hurt her on purpose. He just…got carried away. Which was exactly what worried her. But without Jude here to keep his brother in check, she couldn’t afford to let Malac see that. So she forced her feet to stop moving. To stop carrying her away from him.
“In fact, you hurt me,” Malac whispered as he pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair. Running his hands down her back and over the curves of her ass. “Why did you run?”
Maari’s heart pounded so loud that the sound seemed to surround her, as if the very walls of her room were thrumming with the sound.
She’d run because she’d been desperate and scared, and unable to resist the first opportunity for escape that had presented itself in her three months of captivity. And in that moment, her selfish desire for freedom had won out over her determination to protect the people of Stead Delayne by staying put. By serving out her life sentence as the Camden concubine.
But telling Malac the truth would only make things worse for her. Nothing she could say would—
Wait.
“Maari?” He tried to step back, to look down into her eyes, so she threw her arms around him and held him close. Because a lie was much easier to get away with when it was whispered into the ear of a man who wanted to believe it. When her expression wouldn’t have to uphold the facade.
“I was scared,” she said as her arms wound up and around his neck. She inhaled the scent at the base of his throat, grasping for the beat of arousal that always pulsed through her when he was this close, but this time she felt only a thin thread of it.
His bewitching, seductive bite was truly wearing off.
She’d hoped for this moment. She’d prayed for it. Her body was finally her own again, yet suddenly that forced arousal felt like a lapsed mercy.
“Scared of what?” Malac asked. “Of me?”
“Scared that you’d given up on me. I don’t think I could survive Jude and Orlann without you here.”
His arms tightened around her. She couldn’t be sure he was convinced, but Maari knew he wanted to believe her half-truth as badly as he’d wanted to believe his own. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said at last. “And I’m going to make that up to you, before my brothers get here.”
She stiffened in his arms. “Can it just be you tonight? Just us? Please?”
He stepped back and took her chin in hand, frowning down at her. “Don’t make wishes you know I can’t grant. You failed your punishment.”
“Orlann made sure I would. I told him I couldn’t wait, and he—”
“Princess. This is going to happen. You’re going to take all three of us, and I promise you’re going to enjoy it. But first…” He stepped back and tugged her toward the bed with one hand, yet instead of laying her down, he pulled off his shirt. Immediately, Maari’s hands found his chest, tracing every plane of flesh and ridge of muscle, to make sure he felt adored.
And because his body was worth adoring. Her princes might be rough with her, and sometimes outright cruel, but they were beautiful, every last one of them. Which, to her utter shame, sometimes made it difficult for her to remember that she was supposed to be resisting them on every level.
Malac took her hand and kissed her fingers, then he pushed his pants to the floor and stepped out of them, releasing a long, slightly curved erection that was already straining for her. She smiled up at him and started to sink onto her knees, to take him into her mouth, but Malac grabbed her hand again and pulled her back up. Then he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Come here.”
Confused, she let him tug her onto his lap, trapping his cock against her belly. Malac slid one hand behind her neck and pulled her down for a kiss, as his other hand found its way between them. His tongue stroked into her mouth as his finger found her clit.
She moaned against Malac’s lips, thrusting against his hand. Grateful for the pleasure her body had been trained to accept, even without the influence of his bite to make it effortless. And often merciless.
Malac let go of her neck and slid his hand down her back and beneath her. Lifting her, until she caught on and rose onto her knees on the mattress, straddling him. When she felt his head prodding at her entrance, Maari let herself slide slowly down his shaft, moaning with satisfaction as he rubbed against the sensitive spot inside her. As her pelvis settled against his, and his finger found her clit again.
Then Malac broke away from her mouth and laid back on the mattress. “Ride me,” he ordered, his voice a needy, throaty command. “Take your own pleasure, at your own pace.”
She frowned down at him, skeptical of the offer. Then his finger moved against her clit again and his hips arced up beneath her, throwing her forward even as a bolt of pleasure tightened her flesh around his. And finally, she began to move.
He kept his finger in place, letting her clit bump against the soft pad over and over, until she found a rhythm and an angle that she liked. When she began to moan, he pulled his hand back and folded his arms behind his head, evidently content to watch her writhe on his cock.
Maari closed her eyes, concentrating on her pleasure. On the liberating novelty of being allowed to find it for herself. She crested quickly, aroused as much by the rare freedom as by the physical stimuli, and after just a few minutes, she felt that intimate pressure begin to peak. She threw her head back, hair trailing down her spine, hands on his chest for balance, and when her orgasm came, she gasped softly, riding it out with her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Afraid that if she made too much noise, she’d wake herself from whatever wonderful dream she’d slipped into.
Finally, she opened her eyes to see Malac grinning up at her. “You didn’t come,” she said with a frown.
“Because we’re not done yet.” His gaze flicked over her shoulder just as a warm hand landed on her back, and Maari jolted, startled to realize they were no longer alone.
She twisted to find Jude standing behind her, nude, just as Orlann sat on the edge of the bed. “It was very kind of Malac to get you started,” Jude said as he gently pressed on her back, urging her to lean forward. “I hope you said thank you.”
“Thank you,” Maari whispered, her heart thudding in her throat as she resisted Jude’s gentle attempt to bend her over.
“You’re welcome.” Malac removed her hands from his chest, and his cock jumped inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward. “Just lie down on my chest,” he whispered.
Wicked Charming Cruel Page 2