"No! Jude, please! You can." She grabbed his arm again, and he shrugged out of her grip. “You can send him back. You can do whatever you want, and no one would blame you for showing compassion for your concubine.”
“I’m done with this discussion.”
“Because you’re afraid!” The desperation in her eyes hardened into a familiar hatred. “You’re a fucking coward, so terrified of looking weak that you’ll—”
“Silence!” he roared, and she flinched. “This is not just about my pride. I cannot let people think I can be manipulated by my own fucking concubine, because that perceived weakness will make you a target! People will try to use you against me. They’ll pry at you, like a chink in my armor, and eventually one of them will get through. That’s exactly what Jaarod is already trying to do.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s just—”
“He is! Your brother doesn’t give a damn about you, beyond what you can do for him and for Stead Delayne. He’s playing you like a pawn.”
“And you’re not?”
“Enough!” Jude’s hands formed fists at his sides. “You will march back into that dining room and personally retrieve your brother’s head and return it to me. As punishment for your behavior in there. As evidence that I am in control of my own household!”
“I won’t.” Again, she spoke softly, but there could be no mistaking the iron rod in her spine. The bold nature of her eye contact. This was defiance, pure and simple.
He’d seen war generals with less courage in the face of his anger. But that was not the point.
How was it possible that he could command the respect and obedience of his entire kingdom—both of his brothers—yet he couldn’t manage to keep either of the women in his life in line? Was he too soft on them? Had he coddled them into an arrogant—and erroneous—belief that he could be manipulated?
“You will, or I promise you the consequence will be more than you’re willing to bear.”
“Do whatever you need to do to me, Jude. But if you want Gareth’s head taken away from his godsdamn widow, you can fucking do it yourself!”
Fire blazed in Jude’s veins. “You will—!”
The door opened, and Orlann stepped into the salon, with Malac right behind him. “Geneva is secure in the family suite,” Malac said, his gaze flicking between his brother and their concubine. Taking in the tension crackling through the room. “I made sure she had dinner before I left and locked her in. But I think she needs to see a doctor.”
“I am aware. And thank you.” Jude forced himself to look away from Maari. He turned to Orlann. “And our guests?”
“Not surprisingly, they are no longer interested in dinner, and they declined to be returned to the guest suite. They would like to see you again at your earliest convenience.” Orlann paused. “Your…um…trophy is still on the table.”
“Yes, Maari is going to retrieve it for us, as penance for her little outburst.”
“I am not,” she replied. “Please, Jude—”
“If you do not—”
“I know," she spat. “I will not like the consequences. So be it. Put me in the darkcell for as long as you want. Keep me in there until I starve to death. Have Orlann whip me until I have no skin left on my backside.”
“I won’t—” Orlann began, but she spoke over him, still glaring up at Jude.
“Take back my apartment, if you want. Take back all the clothes and the com device. Take back everything you've ever given me, as punishment. They aren't real gifts anyway, because they come with conditions. That makes them bribes. Coercion. That makes them lies.”
Jude’s scowl deepened until anger emanated from his pores. “I’m not going to tell you again—”
“Here, I’ll get it started for you. Take back the shoes.” Maari bent to pull the first stiletto from her right foot, then his tiny little princess hurled the thing at him!
Jude could have moved quickly enough to avoid the blow, but her intention—her outright insolence!—didn’t sink in until it was too late. Until her four-inch spiked heel hit him in the center of his left pec, before bouncing off to land on the floor. Leaving an echo of impact that might actually bruise!
“Stop!” Jude roared, marching toward her. But Maari hopped backward on her one bare foot as she pried her other shoe off. Then she hurled that at him too!
“Take them both. Take all of them. Take the earrings—”
“Don’t you dare throw those. They cost a fucking—”
As she backed away from him, she ripped both earrings from her lobes, heedless of the drop of blood drawn from the one on the right. Then she threw the fucking earrings at him too!
Jude caught them in mid-air in one fist, then he shoved them into his pocket. “You are digging yourself deeper into a hole with every single—”
“And this!” Maari pulled the necklace from around her throat, snapping the latch, and Malac snorted as she threw that at the king. “And this dress! This isn’t mine. This is just another bribe from you. Another piece of the facade you wanted to show my brother, to make it look like everything is normal here. As if this is all civilized. But I don’t fucking want it. I don’t want anything from you except—”
“Maari!” Jude roared, as he kicked the necklace across the floor toward Malac for safekeeping. “Stop that this instant.”
“What about the ring?” Malac asked, his brows gleefully arched as he watched their concubine challenge his brother. “Are you going to throw that at him too?”
“Don’t encourage her!” Jude snapped.
“The ring is mine,” Maari informed him. “It was my mother’s, and it’s the only thing in the world I truly own right now.”
Jude scowled. “We’ve given you thousands of credits’ worth of clothes and jewelry, and you’re throwing things as if—”
“None of that is mine!” she shouted, turning on him again in her rage. “You give things to me along with threats to take them away, if I ‘misbehave.’ You tear my clothes, whenever I don’t get out of them fast enough. You wouldn’t do any of that if those things truly belonged to me. But they belong to you, so you feel like you can do whatever you want with them!”
“She’s right,” Orlann said, inserting his quiet logic for the first time as he fixed his gaze on their concubine. “Everything you own is ours, because you are ours. You are not a wife or a casual lover. You are not a queen, and despite your birth title, you are not a princess of Stead Camden. You are a concubine. A spoil of war. You belong to us, and we may do as we like with you, so long as we also breed you. We may bruise, and tear, and bite.” His focus settled onto the bite marks at the base of her neck. “We may fuck you however and whenever we want. We may give or deny you pleasure as we see fit. We may lock you up, and tie you up, and fill you up. We may use you for pleasure, or conversation, or amusement. But whatever we choose to do with you, you will respect us. You will behave yourself. You will follow the rules, or there will be consequences.”
“You’re on his side?” Maari demanded, and Jude was surprised to glimpse hurt flickering behind her eyes.
Orlann nodded. “There is no other side. The fact that the queen misbehaved does not make your misbehavior okay.”
“Fuck you!” Maari shouted as her focus flicked between the three of them. As she blinked back tears. She reached back, craning to grab the single button at the top of her spine. “I thought the three of you might actually turn out to be human, but obviously I was wrong, if you can’t bring yourselves to grant me this one mercy. To give my brother’s head back to his fucking widow. You obviously don’t give a shit about me, and that’s fine, because I fucking hate you all, and I don’t want anything you’ve given me.” She jerked on the button, and the dress slid from her body to pool on the floor, leaving her naked and exposed. And utterly, mesmerizingly defiant.
If she hadn’t just made a complete fool of him in front of a foreign dignitary, then again in front of his brothers, Jude might be tempted to stand back and watch h
er rage again, to see how far it would go. Because the gods knew she was magnificent in her anger.
But she could not be allowed to get away with such behavior. “Put that back on and—”
Maari stepped out of the dress and kicked it toward him, across the marble floor.
“Gods below, what happened to her ass?” Malac demanded, slowly circling the princess for a better view.
“Nothing compared to what’s about to happen to it.” Jude turned to Orlann. He was done with this spoiled display. “Go get a fucking flogger.”
Orlann frowned. “I’m not going to strike her again until she’s healed.”
“No, you’re not,” the king growled. “I am.”
The princess turned to Orlann, true alarm in her eyes for the first time all evening, though her posture still spoke of utter defiance. “What’s a flogger?” Her fear sent a bolt of satisfaction through the king, and his cock hardened. Now she was taking him seriously. “Orlann? What’s a flogger? Is he going to whip me? Please…”
Then, to Jude’s astonishment—to his utter fury—his concubine threw herself at his brother. At the man who’d left blue bruises all over her pretty, round little ass. She clung to him, burying her head in his shoulder, and Orlann’s arms wrapped around her like she fit there.
As if his princess were really Orlann’s princess.
What the living hell? He’d seen her cling to Malac, despite the Defense Commander’s occasional loss of temper, but Orlann?
“What the fuck?” Malac demanded, echoing Jude’s confusion.
“Please don’t let him whip me,” Maari begged, her fists curled around handfuls of the councilor’s formal gray vest. “I can hardly sit as it is, and—”
“Let go of her!” Jude roared. “She does not deserve your coddling.” Which wasn’t something he’d ever expected to see Orlann do.
“I’m not coddling her. She knows she’s made a grave mistake, don’t you sweetness?” Orlann pried her away from his chest and tilted her head up by her chin, his grip white-knuckled. “And she knows there will be serious consequences. But whipping her with a flogger is not the answer. Not until she’s healed.”
“Well, whose fault is it she needs to heal?” Jude snapped.
“Put me in the darkcell. Please,” Maari begged the king, even as she clung to Orlann, trying to pull herself back into his embrace while he held her at arm’s length.
“Are you still trying to negotiate with me?” Jude hauled her away from his brother and threw her over his shoulder, then he gave her ass a solid smack.
Maari shrieked, and the sound ended in a wail of pain. And for a moment, he thought he’d done it. That he’d subdued her, and he wouldn’t have to do any further damage to her beautiful little ass.
Then his little shrew began to thrash.
“No! Put me down!” Maari flailed and kicked, pounding on his back with her tiny fists. Drawing an oof from him when her knee nearly cracked one of his ribs.
“Stop, or I’ll strike you again!” Jude snapped. But she was beyond reason by then. Maari had succumbed to hiccupping tears, punctuated by wild strikes with her feet, and knees, and fists. She was completely hysterical, shouting curses at him between agonized shrieks that his guests could surely hear, clearly under the impression that she had nothing left to lose. “Maari!” Jude smacked her bare backside again, and her shrieking reached a pitch that threatened to shatter glass lamps all over the salon full of antiques.
“Stop!” Orlann grabbed Jude’s wrist when his hand rose for another blow. “Her backside is off-limits for the moment, and I’ll take responsibility for that.”
“Damn right you will. She’s out of control, and—” He bit off the rest of his sentence with a startled gasp when a lucky blow from her foot struck an inch from his scrotum. “That is enough!” Jude roared as he set Maari on her feet, pinning her arms to her sides, despite her best tearful effort to free herself. “You will do as you’re told!” Then he pulled her close and grabbed a handful of her hair, tugging her head to the side so he could sink his teeth into her throat, just beneath her left ear.
Maari went still in his grip, her heartbeat thundering in his ears as it synced with his. As her blood trickled into his mouth around the teeth still puncturing her skin, injecting her with a microscopic amount of whatever it was that made the Camden men able to inspire lust in even the most disinterested party.
This second bite wouldn’t make her obey him, but it would make her so vulnerable to his presence that she couldn’t think about anything but being touched by him. Filled and fucked by him. It would distract her from the fit she was throwing long enough for him to deal with the fallout.
The princess groaned. Her scent changed as arousal washed over her, as did the taste of her blood—likely from the hormones flooding her system. She pressed herself against him, and when he released her other arm, both of her hands went to his chest, trying to find their way beneath the diagonal line of his buttons. Trying to tear past clothing and find his flesh.
Jude retracted his teeth from her neck and his bite became a kiss. A gentle lick of her torn skin. “Are you ready for your punishment?” he whispered against her throat, and Maari moaned.
“Yes,” she whispered, her head thrown back. Her thighs pressed together. Her eyes closed against the conflict raging in them. “But will you fuck me first?” The question seemed to cost her some quiet bit of her dignity, and that knowledge made Jude’s cock ache.
“Okay, you still can’t flog her,” Orlann insisted. “But I think I know how to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget, without putting a single mark on her body.”
“You don’t want to mark her body?” Malac rubbed the prominent swelling behind his zipper as he watched the king fondle their naked, suddenly willing—and desperate—concubine. “Since when?”
“We’ve all already marked her.” He gently tugged Maari out of Jude’s grip, ignoring her groan of protest. “Why don’t you two go deal with the guests, before Jaarod starts an international incident, while I get everything set up? Meet me in Maari’s suite in half an hour?”
“What do you have planned?” Jude asked, but Orlann only gave him a cryptic smile.
“I think you’ll like this better as a surprise.”
“What did you do to her?” Clare demanded, standing from the table the moment Jude stepped into the dining room, with his Defense Commander at his back. The first course had been served, but neither the visiting king nor his sister-in-law had touched a bite of it. “We could hear her screaming, but Jaarod wouldn’t—”
“She belongs to Stead Camden.” Jaarod stood, straightening his suit jacket. “How a man disciplines members of his own household is none of our business.”
Jude nodded in acknowledgment of Jaarod’s cold-hearted—if accurate—assessment. “I must apologize to you on behalf of both my wife and my concubine.”
“Please don’t hurt Maari.” The widowed queen cloaked her plea as a formal request, her hands clasped in front of her, but real fear swam in her eyes.
“I assure you, ma’am, no real man would need to injure a woman to keep his household in line.”
Clare flinched, and Jude almost felt bad about taking a posthumous dig at her husband, who, according to intelligence reports, had been known to hit his wife beyond the occasional warranted—or recreational—spanking.
“I’m going to escort you back to your guest suite now,” Malac said, stepping forward. “If you’d like, we can have fresh food sent up.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat.” Clare aimed another agonized glance at the silhouette of her husband’s head, beneath the draped napkin. “I assume you’re not going to let us take him?”
“Not today,” Jude said. “However, if you’d like to enter into a formal negotiation, with the council moderating, I would be willing to listen to your offer.”
“You want us to ransom my brother’s head?” Jaarod demanded.
“Give it some thought,” Jude resisted a sat
isfied smile. “I await word on your decision. And if that’s all for now, I will see you both in the morning, as you depart.”
“Come, Clare.” Jaarod put one arm around his sister-in-law’s shoulders and led her into the hall after Malac.
When they were gone, Jude pulled the napkin from his keepsake and lifted Gareth Delayne’s head by a handful of his hair. He stared into the glass eyes and sighed. Then he carried the head across the palace and placed it back on the conference table in his office, as he sent a message to Malac to find out how the hell Geneva had gotten into the office without permission.
“Please,” Maari begged as Jude stepped through the second-floor entrance to her suite. “Please don’t do this. Please.”
“Would you really rather have the darkcell?” Orlann asked, accompanied by the soft creak of a mattress.
“Yes. Yes, I’d rather go hungry for days than endure this.”
Orlann chuckled. “Which is exactly why this is what you’re getting. Be strong, sweetness. You can handle it. Just endure your punishment and learn from it.”
Intrigued, Jude crossed the second-floor foyer and stood in the bedroom doorway to find his concubine spread-eagle on her bed, her wrists cuffed to the posts at the top of the mattress, her ankles restrained by cuffs that were connected beneath the bed. Holding her spread wide. On display.
Jude stepped into the room, drawn like a magnet to the sight before him, and Maari groaned as he came closer. Moisture appeared in the cleft of her sex, glistening in the bright light overhead. “You smell so good,” she moaned, and Jude couldn’t help feeling pretty satisfied with the effect of his second bite, despite the risks that came with it. “Please… Will you touch me?”
“No, he won’t,” Orlann said. “Not yet, anyway.” Jude’s middle brother turned from the dresser, where he’d set one of his distinctive wooden boxes. He held a familiar three-pronged device in one hand. Jude lifted one brow at him, and Orlann smiled. “You gave me the idea last week, when you threatened to restrain her and bring her to the brink, over and over.”
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