*Kryndor's Bride part 12

Previously...

The noblewomen retreat in a fit of mutters. Their dismay is so potent that it mixes with their perfumes and scented oils.

"What happened in my absence?" asks Mael, glancing between Ceryn and the topdwellers.

"Oh," Ceryn says, clasping her hands. "Nothing at all."

I am surprised by this twist.

Ceryn makes moves that I'm sure not even a Seer can foresee.

PRESENTLY...

CERYN

I toss and turn on the bed, sweat beading at my temples. The lights have long been exhausted. I stare into the darkness, squirming as the pain in my abdomen worsens by the minute.

"Must you thrash around?" Comes the Xor's irate voice.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm just…hurting."

I don't know why. Today should be the last day of my red, and I usually have no pain by now.

The Xor sits up, and when the doors to the chambers are pushed open, I realize he must have used a bell pull.

The servant walks to the nearest wall lamp and turns it on. The crystal glows with warm, yellow light and dimly illuminates the room.

"You called, Xor?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Brew tea for the girl. She is in pain," he says.

"Yes, highness."

"Thank you," I whisper to him. "You didn't have to."

"You would've kept me up all night otherwise," he grunts, rolling to his side and pushing himself closer to me. He reaches a massive arm over and palms my left hip.

"W-what–"

I yelp as I'm dragged across the bed until I'm flush against the Xor. With his violet eyes closely watching me, he reaches under the warm covers. A meaty hand dwarfs my thigh and slowly shifts north.

I hold my breath and glance down at my body as it activates to recognize the male beside me. Nipples hardening, toes curling, skin erupting with thrill bumps.

I've seen what this male is equipped with–all the muscles on his body and the inches on his cock–and I should be running away. But I feel a desire so corrupt that it bends my sense of fear.

The covers shift as his hand moves beneath them–like desert sands when a Xelathrum crawls underground. The Xor's hand slides under my knee-length nightgown, past my panties, and onto my stomach.

"Here?" he asks gruffly, two fingers pressing gingerly into my womb.

"Yes," I exhale.

His fingers rub circles at either side of my womb, massaging me with a gentleness that I didn't think his hands could possess.

The pain in my abdomen slowly relaxes like parting clouds. But the storm is not over yet because something is thundering in my sex. Flashes of heat. A yearning ache.

"Better?" he asks, flexing his fingers to softly dig in, working away the pain and replacing it with desire.

"Where did you learn how to do this?" I ask, my upper body slowly relaxing, although my knees are tightly pressed together.

Young topdwelling women do not get their red, so I don't think he has touched another in this manner before.

"I had pets as a child," he confirms. "You are not that different. Soft."

It's hard to picture the Xor as a defenseless, loving child. He seems so guarded now. So hardened.

"Th–thank you for this," I whisper into the night.

He doesn't reply; he only caresses my bare skin, which is so different from his. I wonder what he sees in my flat, soft belly that has starved many nights. Weakness?

"Soon," he says, breaking the silence, flattening a massive palm on my abdomen. "I will need to swell you with my child. We have unfinished business, Ceryn."

All air whooses out of me as I receive my answer. So this is what he had been thinking about: Not of how weak I am, but how breedable.

My heart is outraged. Hurt.

But my sex is clenching.

This Xor has wreaked havoc inside me. A war that no other male has inspired before. And I don't know what will become of me.

Hearing the approaching footsteps of servants, the Xor returns to his side of the bed. The movement drags the covers down my legs. With a final glance at my exposed thighs, he grumbles, and the sound makes the entire bed shake.

He drags his gaze away and heavily collapses on the bed.

***

When I awake the next morning, I feel refreshed. Whatever was in the tea that I drank last night allowed me to sleep through the night.

I dreamt of The Underhold. I walked through its brutal yet beautiful mines lit by crystals. I walked through its empty tunnels, arising in wards lined with markets. And as I stood there, I realized just how much I missed home. The humidity in the air, my unemployed drunk uncle who always seemed to have money, the loud gamblers that gathered around tables but respectfully moved away from dens with newborns. The creative food sold by vendors that's made with simple ingredients and yet delicious.

I miss the solidarity. Everyone had little to nothing, yet there was so much soul and laughter. A warmth that cannot be found in this palace that’s lit by a thousand chandeliers that glow like suns.

I sit up when the Xor steps out of his closet, dressed in simple, fitted clothes.

"Are you well-rested?" he asks me, glancing out the window and staring at the clear sky for a few seconds as if expecting something.

"Yes," I reply, holding the sheets to my chest. "Thank you."

He nods and heads for the door. "Mael will be here soon to escort you." He stops and turns, the doorknob in his hand. "One of the servants reported that some of your clothes have disappeared. Have you been discarding them because they're not to your taste?"

My heart drops.

I've been storing a few clothes away to send them back home so my father could sell them and support himself. I've been gathering the courage to ask Mael for help to smuggle the clothes to The Underhold, although I know she would insist that I tell the Xor what I've been doing with my belongings.

"Y–yes," I lie. Afraid that he would forbid me from providing for my father.

He looks displeased. Undoubtedly, because I seem ungrateful.

"I see," is all he says before he leaves the room. He doesn't reprimand me for being wasteful or order me to stop. He just turns away, like he expected this of me.

I groan and roll out of bed to prepare for the day's trials.

I seek the most simple clothes and settle with a black, ankle-length dress cinched by a braided gold belt at the waist.

Mael knocks on the door as I slip on my sandals, punctual as usual.

I open the door and find her holding a tall, potted plant rising from sand. One I've never seen before. Its curled petals are purple, red, and yellow, and its stem is orange. It must be native to a desert, judging by the soil.

"Help me with this, child," she says. "It's another engagement gift."

"Oh, thank you!" I reply as I accept it from her, my shoulders sinking from the weight.

I carefully set it inside the chambers. "It's beautiful. Who sent it?"

"It was an anonymous gift," Mael replies, fixing her veil. "I'm unsure what species it is, but you can ask the Xor. Come. We're running late."

I follow her down the hall, avoiding the gaze of people we walk by because I know what I will find. Hatred and mistrust.

I doubt things will ever change. The social circles of this palace will never accept me. Their disapproval is slowly getting to me, chipping away at my spirit. I want to be strong and unfazed by others' judgment. But alas, I still seem to be the helpless little girl on a wrecked ship that's dependent on others for survival. And I fucking hate that about me.

Mael offers a much-needed distraction with her lectures. I throw myself into my work, learning every nook and crevice of Kryndor and its history. Outside, the sky darkens, and the latest storm rages on Kryndor. Thunder strikes the palace three times, rattling my bones and tensing my muscles as I wait for the ceiling to collapse.

Mael kept scolding me for getting distracted, but I couldn't help but watch as orange, gassy clouds gathered in the distance to form fiery tornadoes–spinners–as lowdwellers call them. She told me we were safe. The giant wall of Arkon is made of metal that repels the magnetism of such gasses, keeping spinners from forming inside the capital.

I remembered the Xor's distant look this morning. As if he had sensed that the sky wouldn't be blue for much longer.

I stared at the storming horizon in astonishment and fear, noticing how it looked like a closed book. What adventures lie within its pages?

Later that evening, when I returned to the Xor's chambers, I was surprised to find him inside, leaning against the window where I always sit. He cradles a weathered book in his giant hands. In a careful manner that reminds me of how gently he handled me last night.

My skin bristles at the memory. His touch is unforgettable.

There's an odd chair beside him. It's cushioned and made of leather, but there's a hole in the center.

"Good, you're here," he says, snapping the book shut.

I glance around the room, looking for the potted plant.

"I moved the plant to the balcony."

"There's a balcony here?"

He nods. "Yes, a few rooms down. It overlooks the waterfalls. I will take you some time."

I smile. "That would be nice, thank you."

I wonder if it would be like the cliff overlooking the Unsailable Ocean. Water warring below, its sounds muffling all speech. Luring me to take a step closer until I'm falling.

He sets a hand on the chair. "And this is another gift sent from my sister. She lives in Glintspire with her husband, but you will meet her soon."

I approach the chair and study it closely. The hole in the center is very puzzling.

"I will write her a letter expressing my gratitude as soon as I figure out what this is," I say, chuckling. "Is this a birthing chair?"

The Xor stares at me hard, his immense hand clutching the cushion, indenting it. My body flashes with the memory of his palm against my abdomen.

"How much has Mael told you about the Fortnight of Solace?"

"I was only told that the youth of the noble Houses were celebrating, and that's why they're dressing…scantily. She said you'd tell me the rest."

"Come sit," he says, gesturing to the chair.

I approach gingerly, my thoughts fogging with every step. I know from experience that the closer the Xor gets, the more my reasoning blurs. Just like the spinners in the distance that destroy the peace of the land once they descend from the skies and make contact.

I grip my skirt and lower myself onto the chair. It's comfortable, but its design leaves much to the imagination.

"This is not a birthing chair," says the Xor. "It is for pleasing you."

"Ah, so it's for massages?"

He chuckles, the sound startling me. "Yes, Ceryn, it's for massaging your cunt with my tongue."

I scramble, jumping away from the Xor and this invention from hell. I am to sit on it with my bare ass exposed? I've never imagined something so…racy!

"Why…why would your sister gift this to me?"

"This gift is perfectly appropriate among us topdwellers. Young nobles are sexual creatures," he replies, his violet eyes narrowing. They look like jewels. Sharp, deep, and beautiful. Made to be revered, and yet I have learned that every part of this male is a weapon. And that those eyes of his are made for distraction. I don't want to discover what happens if I leave my guard down for too long.

"Topdwellers like to vrell, especially during the Fortnight of Solace. And everyone assumes that I devour you behind these doors every night and morning."

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

"The Fortnight of Solace ends a few days from today, and custom dictates that we must participate in the ceremony."

"What…ceremony?" I ask, gripping my skirt tightly in my fist. Ready to lift it and run.

"There is a flower that blooms on the tallest mountain on Kryndor. It's called the Draevun. It has been proven to increase fertility in females and is frequently brewed for tea. It's Arkon's most valuable delicacy that's traded to houses of other kingdoms."

I nod. Mael taught me about trade.

"The flower gains its potency with pheromones." He walks around the chair and stands before me. "In a few days, you, me, and a couple of married topdwellers will be locked in a room. Touching and fucking. Rasping and panting, clouding the air with desperation and desire. Praying to the Goddess of life and death for fertility as we rut each other."

My face catches fire, my cheeks turning pink.

The Xor's hand reaches up to cup my chin, tipping my head higher.

"You are to write your name on my cock, and we are to fuck throughout the night until not a smudge of ink can be found on our skin."

I shut my eyes tight, hoping to vanish. Because there's no vrelling way I can look at him while he rambles such lunacy.

His thumb strokes my cheek. "For so long…" he whispers. "I have wondered if you taste any different when your cheeks are tinted. Does this color make you sweeter, dauri?"

Dauri? What does that mean?

I forget all about my question when a hot, thick tongue slides across my cheekbone.

I shudder, my eyes opening.

He's tasting me. Lapping at my blushing cheek. Making me ever redder, even wetter. Because somewhere along his asinine revelation, my body got aroused. My nipples peaked, and my sex melted.

"Hmm…" he says, pulling back and licking his lips. Violet eyes hooded. "So that's what you taste like."

He releases my chin, leaving me frozen in the middle of the room with my cheek still marked with his saliva. 

"Are there any questions?"

"I–I–"

"Don't worry, the ink won't be toxic."

That's what he thinks I'm concerned by?!

A/N: So what are ya'll wearing to the ceremony? 😂 I'll see ya'll there because I'm going to show up and look at the snobby topdwellers like this:

The topdwellers can come and get this SMOKE 🔥💨