Kryndor's Bride parts 8-9

Previously...

"They expect proof of my claim," he adds.

Proof?

"But I will forge it."

With that, he begins to pump his bicep. Stroking himself.

Realization dawns, and I make a small shriek before rushing to an adjoined room. Leaving the Xor behind as he milks the 'proof' out of his cock to spray it all over the sheets.

I look around the enormous walk-in closet. The Xor's clothes are stored behind curtains that I don't dare to peek behind. Instead, I sit on a stool with my hands entwined, wondering how I will make it past the night.

Wondering if the Xor's seed-wet sheets will hang beside my bloody ones on the mezzanine for all to see.

PRESENTLY...

PART 8

CERYN

The heavy, chiseled door isn't enough to block the Xor's grunts. I can hear him. Feel his hot breath curling at the nape of my neck as I cower in his closet.

It takes me a minute to realize that he's taking his time. Enjoying the pleasure, refusing to rush for anyone.

My thighs are pressed together as I sit and wait, but I can't stop squirming. I'm aching with curiosity. Desperate to watch this storm unfold, having never seen one of its likeness before.

The king is in such an intimate, vulnerable state, and yet he manages to project insurmountable strength. He's unconcerned by my opinion; unapologetic about his actions. He's lost in his pleasure–distracted–but not weak or helpless. He remains in control. And although I've only known the man for a few days, I recognize that he has mastered the threshold of pain and pleasure, thriving on both extremes.

He carries such confidence on those broad shoulders that no one in this palace would be scandalized by his lewdness but rather amazed.

I inch towards the door, intrigue poisoning my veins, as I crack the door open and peek into the dangerous scene in the bedroom.

Whether he heard the door creak or not, he didn't care.

He beats his cock, bicep pumping furiously. Legs spread wide, his thighs, back, and buttocks rippling in muscle. There's not an inch of fat on him–not an inch of softness even in his erect cock.

I stop breathing as I watch, wishing he could turn around and reveal what he's gripping.

I should turn away, but how could I? I've never seen anything like this before. The Xor is built like the rocky walls of The Underhold, solid and rugged. On the brink of collapsing and ending me.

I'm captivated by the peril. Riveted by the depraved squelching sounds of his fist stroking his wet cock, and his guttural grunts that sound like a language I've never heard before.

How can a king of three lavish kingdoms, recognized by thousands of people, be savage like a rogue beast roaming the wildlands?

He roars, his back straightening. And I feel the vibrations of his shout in my teeth and bones, the sound traveling up my pressed thighs and touching my core.

I inhale deeply, finally remembering to breathe. 

The Xor rolls his head backward to look at the ceiling. And a destructive part of me–the part that sometimes whispers that I should dive into The Unsailable ocean when I'm standing by the cliff–hopes that he glances at me and finds me spying.

I want to know what he would do. How he would react.

It's a foolish, self-destructive affinity that will one day get me burned. I need to stop being so attracted to fire.

I crawl away from the door and wrap my hands around my legs, wondering what will happen next. I don't want to step out. I don't want to be anywhere near the soaked sheets because I fear my reaction.

Would I lick my lips and humiliate myself?

I cover my flushed face with my hands, mortified by the mere thought.

I hear him walking around the room and then the chime of a bell. Seconds later, the door opens, and a female voice calls, "Did you request a maid, my Xor?"

"Yes," the king replies. His voice husky. "I need fresh linens. My concubine will have dinner and a new wardrobe. I'm going to step out for a while. Serve her well."

"Yes, Xor."

I listen closely to their footsteps. The king leaves, and the maid enters and exits the room a few times, dragging a cart inside.

She doesn't call for me. I wonder if she even realizes that I'm still in the chamber.

When it all quiets, I step outside and find the sheets have been changed, like nothing ever happened. There are three dresses folded neatly at the base of the bed and three pairs of sandals. I assume they're tailoring more clothes for me since my size is rare around these parts, being the only five-foot woman in the palace.

I don't touch anything, returning to my place by the window, where I sit on the floor and rest my head against the cool glass. For a while, I watch lanterns turn on across the kingdom in the distance like distant fireflies.

The door opens, and I turn to watch a maid bring in a platter of steaming hot food. Delicacies I've never seen before.

The tall maid keeps her expression downcast as she sets the platter on the small dining table by the window. Made of solid gold, it is probably immovable.

"Would you like anything else, my lady?" her words are polite, but her tone is devoid of warmth.

I purse my lips. "No, thank you. And it's Ceryn. Just Ceryn."

I notice that my accent has become thicker than usual. The Graxali language of the topdwellers is heavy on my tongue.

She dips her chin. "It would be inappropriate to address you by your given name. You should not…give it so freely to servants."

"Oh."

She touches her chin–a sign of respect, I'm assuming, and then she turns to leave, her long brown skirts flowing.

I study the food on the table, only managing to drink some of the water in the cup. My stomach is sickened by my worry. Father won't have a home to return to. We've been gone for days. Our hut was probably looted or caved in, and the tax collectors will be waiting at the doorstep with their hands extended, expecting either coin or blood.

I need to mail my engagement jewels as soon as possible. I'll send them to my uncle. He might be drunk, but he is trustworthy.

I'm alone long into the night in this magnificent yet lonely chamber. I wonder how many previous Xors have called this their home. If the Xor I'm now engaged to has desecrated the bed of his forefathers.

The door opens, and I assume it's a maid coming to retrieve the dishes.

"Why are you still awake?"

I turn away from the window, rising slowly to face the Xor. He stands there looking like the first day I met him. Strong, unmoveable. Wearing a light, plain chamise and dark pants. The lip ring he once wore has long been removed, and his long sleeves cover his armlet. There is no sword at his hip, there never has been. He wears no frills or jewels to twinkle under the chandeliers of the palace because he doesn't need them. His tall stature and broad shoulders declare him as king. Anyone who sees his figure identifies him as such.

"I wanted your permission to freshen up in the water closet."

He glances at a door, and I assume it's where the water closet is. "You do not need permission for such things. You may roam my chambers as you desire."

Except that I do. Spaces in The Underhold are so narrow that lowdwellers have a lot of pride in our dens. We use curtains as doors because even thieves hesitate to disrespect someone's home.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"The sheets are now hanging over the mezzanine. The veilkeepers are satisfied that our relationship has been consummated and that I've planted my heir in your womb, but this lie will not last for long."

I grit my teeth.

He looks so relaxed. Like we're simply discussing business. And I suppose that we are. He only chose me because I challenged him before his kingdom, and he refused to yield to me. I am only valuable to him because of my womb.

"You may take your time getting comfortable with your new role. I will not force you, but eventually, Ceryn, I must fuck you."

Goddess, Zintha, strike me down now. It would be so much less shocking than this exchange.

"I…know."

"If you have any concerns about what fucking entails, you may ask me or the midwife that will look after you. Her name is Mael'azur, but you may call her Mael."

Both of those options are equally horrifying.

"I will be gentle at first," he assures me.

At first? How many times…does he plan on taking me?

It occurs to me that in this insane plan, we never agreed on how many heirs he wanted.

"Your face is red," he says. "Is that usual of lowdwellers? Or are you ill?"

I touch my cheeks. Something that rarely happens when I'm embarrassed. It's unlike lowdwellers to turn red in the face, but I assume it's a feature among my ancestors, the Zepharim.

"Yes," I rasp a lie. "It's usual amongst the lowdwellers."

I doubt he has ever met a lowdweller before, at least not up close. He likely only spots them in the loading bay.

He crosses his arms over his chest. "I will provide for you, but you must remember your place. I am not your friend or your lover, and you will not be spared if you disrespect or question me again. What you did during the Aetherial Banquet was wreckless and must never be repeated publicly or privately."

I nod, feeling foolish when his words sting.

"I don't trust you, and I don't love you. You are here to be bred, and that is all. Do we have an understanding?"

"As I told you earlier, my Xor," I rasp. "I was willing to negotiate with anyone to save my father. If it wasn't going to be you, it would be another, so your feelings are mutual."

"That fucking tongue of yours," he growls, flashing strong, straight teeth. Feral. "Always dancing on the line it cannot cross. Teetering on the edge of disrespect. Be vrelling careful with me, lowdweller."

Oh, I will. Although he calls me such demonizing names: breeder and lowdweller, I will not cower like the nobles and gods expect me to.

His violet eyes narrow, chillingly reminding me of Ravore's.

"Of course, Xor."

He looks at my untouched dinner. "Eat. You'll need your strength."

He's right. Because this very interaction has made me weak at the knees.

I must eat to keep the Xor from devouring me.

PART 9

KING VARKON

Ceryn sits on the dining table, stiffly holding the utensils and sitting on a chair much too large for her.

I find it incredible how small she is. The women I've embraced in the past were much taller and muscled.

I once again wonder if I've made a mistake. I could very well break her.

Everything about this union is ill-fated. I feel some regret now, but I am not known for backing out of decisions, so I must fully commit to this madness.

I lay in my bed with my arms behind my head, thinking of the many things scheduled for tomorrow. I try not to be distracted by the faint clanking of silverware.

My eyes linger on the knife she holds. It's similar to the one she stabbed on the table before me. The one that got us in this predicament.

When Ceryn is done eating, she stands and neatly stacks the plates, pushing her braid over her shoulder. She grabs a nightgown and heads for the water closet. Her eyes jolt around the room, searching for danger.

She emerges minutes later with her face washed and her figure covered by a long, shapeless, brown nightgown. She glances at the window she had been sitting by, as if considering sleeping on the floor to avoid my side.

I reach beside the bed and pull one of the long handles draping from the ceiling, summoning a servant. A maid instantly walks into the room, her head bowed. She walks around the room to exhaust every glowing white crystal and chandelier that lights my chambers. She leaves a pair of curtains parted, allowing for the gentle moonlight to fill the room.

Ceryn stands at the foot of the bed, her head bowed just like the maid. I study her, wondering what she's waiting for.

The maid leaves, and Ceryn remains standing.

"What? Do you fear I'll topple the bed over as I did the dining table at the banquet?"

"No. It's just that… I cannot reach the bed."

I chuckle, thinking she's jesting. But to my astonishment, she's right. She's over three heads shorter than me, and the bed platform is highly elevated.

I rise from the bed and walk around it, towering over my concubine before descending my hands on her. I grab her waist, my fingertips nearly touching. She's small. Malnourished.

I lift her and set her on the bed, ignoring how she lightly trembles. Her fists and toes are curled, her lips pursed, and I assume that beneath her nightgown, her sex is clenched, too.

How am I ever going to fuck this woman if her body is always on guard?

I set her on the bed and then return to my side. She's many feet away from me, her weight barely registering on the bed. And yet I struggle to fall asleep as I remain attuned to her breath.

Tension haunts the room.

Ceryn doesn't dare to lift a finger as she lies on the bed. Right over the spot where I spilled my seed as I pictured her sprawled naked before me.

I roll over to my side, getting increasingly frustrated. Not much in this life has denied me sleep, and yet a lingering feeling of danger keeps me awake. I don't trust this woman–and that's a laughable thought because she couldn't assassinate me if she tried. 

I've been stabbed plenty enough to know that her small, weak hands couldn't plunge a knife deep enough into my heart to kill me.

She's physically harmless. More of a threat to my cock than any other part of my body. And yet she commands my attention, stealing my sleep. I don't know how the lowdweller does it, but it's commemorable. A magic that should be studied by the seers.

It's this force of hers that got us into this situation. A Xor taking a lowdweller as a concubine.

***

I roll out of bed early in the morn after a short sleep spell and yank the curtains open.

Ceryn is awake. Lying in the same position as night. I suspect she didn't get much sleep, either.

"I have a long day ahead of me. I won't see you until the evening."

She rises, sitting up on the bed with her legs hanging over the edge. "I see," she whispers.

I pity her because the hard part has just begun.

"Mael will guide you. You must learn about the main Houses of the kingdoms, the gods we worship, the geography of the surface, and the languages and customs."

"Languages?" she asks, looking away from me. Giving your back to a Xor is considered disrespectful, but I won't fuss about it. She wouldn't know because she's not from this world.

"Yes. You must earn High Graxali."

"I already speak it."

I'm surprised by this. High Graxali is an ancient language, rarely taught even to nobles. My siblings never learned it.

"You do?" I ask. "How?"

Education is sparse in The Underhold. Lowdwellers only learn Xali, though the vast majority are illiterate. I learned it out of curiosity, and I am one of the few in the palace who speak all three languages.

"When I was young, I would follow the elders around as they worked. They taught me as they shaped clay, kneaded dough, and sewed."

She hops off the bed, turning to reveal a soft smile.

"Fond memories, I see."

She chuckles, her face lighting up in a way I've never seen before, although her eyes are sunken in from lack of sleep. "I was quite persistent. The elders only humored me to get rid of me."

"Why is that?" I ask.

I'm running late for my first meeting with a minister and yet unable to disengage.

Her smile reveals soft indentations on her cheeks. Dimples. A feature bred out of topdwellers, whose bodies evolved to become more muscular and fit for the brutal surface.

But this female is all softness.

"The elders were superstitious and unnerved by my eyes, but I like to think that by the end of our lectures, they had warmed up to me some. I still remember their names. Ferrya, Lionis, No’ova. They would whack my hand with sticks when I mispronounced words, but I would always return for their lectures."

Her words sobered me. They're a warning, though she doesn't realize it. I don't want to be like these elders who softened to her.

She glances out the window. "Perhaps I should work on my pronunciations to tame my accent.."

"No," I respond. "I told you to understand the world of the topdwellers, not to become one of them. You must not erase your accent on their account."

She frowns. "I don't wish to become like them. But they already deprecate my appearance. I don't want to give them any parts of me to condemn. My accent does me no favors."

"You are a lowdweller," I grit, and her body rocks backward as if I've swung at her.

"There are no great Houses in The Underhold. No familes respected for their exhaustive, ancient lineages like those found here. It is a place of forgotten, withered bloodlines. But you are the first lowdweller to become a concubine. A title that has never been inked in history. You are a new generation, and you must make the kingdoms respect your bloodline by celebrating your origin as a lowdweller."

She's stunned to silence. Odd, since she always has something to say.

I make my way to my dressing room, where I change into my clothes for the day.

There's a soft knock at the door.

"Kryndor," calls Mael, the midwife.

I head for the door, glancing at Ceryn, who remains by the bed as if awaiting instruction. Giving the illusion of obedience when we both know she's naturally rebellious.

I step out of my chambers and close the door behind me, standing in the hall with Mael, her face covered by a veil. And I realize that I don't know the color of her eyes, although she has served me since I was a child, delivering me from my mother's womb. I could ask her to lift the veil, being the only male in this palace other than family who can see her face. But I won't. She can do that on her own accord.

"Good morn, Mael."

"Greetings, my Xor. I hope the winds have been merciful to you."

Not quite, I think, looking backward to my chambers.

"I spoke with Ceryn. I need you to give her a tour of the palace and begin lectures immediately. Skip the language lessons."

"Of course, Kryndor. Is there anything else you need?"

"Yes. Visit the tailor and see what is taking so long with her wardrobe."

She nods. "I will… and may I ask, have you warned her of the upcoming ceremony?"

"No. It is still weeks away."

"She must be warned of the ceremony, my Xor. It will be…heavy on her heart."

It would be shocking, that much I know. But Ceryn has enough to worry about.

"Look after her. I will return to my chambers tonight if you need to report anything to me."

She lowers herself, her knees wobbling because of her old age. I instinctively reach to grab her in case she falls. I've excused her from bowing, but she doesn't listen. Insisting that she'll show her respect until she's dead. The woman is stubborn, but I care for her as if she were family.

We part ways, and I spend the day speaking with ministers about pending matters all over the kingdom. The most pressing case comes from The Underhold, which was attacked last night by Xelathrums–giant creatures that dig underground, often destroying dens and entire wards of The Underhold.

I send twenty warriors to slay the beasts and help the lowdwellers with repairs.

And then, I go to a meeting I've been dreading.

I find Tephra, my second cousin, in the grand library. Her lips are pursed as she lays against a bookshelf, and her hands cradle her pregnant stomach.

"Xor," she greets, lowering herself.

"How are you, Tephra?"

She reaches for her bandaged cheek, her eyes sorrowful. I feel for her. Tephra has always been obsessed with the thought of motherhood. She married a much younger male in the hopes it would better her chances. She was so preoccupied with becoming a mother that she paid no mind to anything else. She keeps to herself and bothers no one.

"I am truly sorry about your scar."

"Then why…" she raps. "Why would you take that lowdweller as your concubine?"

I sigh. "I am here to make things right. I will award you and your husband land in Glintsphire."

"I don't want land! I want that…whore out of this kingdom and back to her ditch!"

"Tephra," I growl her name, my shoulders tense. "She is of house Arkon now. A concubine higher in status than you. Don't disrespect her."

She lowers her face, gritting her teeth. "I… I'm sorry, Xor. My anger got the best of me. You know I am not usually like this."

"You are right to feel this way, but circumstances have led her to my side. I do not have the answers you seek."

I hope she doesn't ask me why this has happened because I have yet to understand it.

"Her father has been banished from the palace. You won't have to see him again."

She nods. "I am glad to hear this. I will accept the reparations. The matter is settled."

"Good. Thank you, Tephra."

"May I ask…will you take another concubine?"

My lips seem to glue shut because, if I am being honest with myself, the question crossed my mind last night, but I could not answer it.

She glances at me, disturbed by the silence.

"And what of a queen, Kryndor?" she rasps, her eyes fearful. "Will you ever take a queen? Or will this lowdweller be the only one to warm your chambers?"

"Good day," I grit, infuriated by the question and my inability to answer.

I track down my brother in the sparring room, where he spends most of the day.

For the first time in months, I joined him. We crossed swords and sparred late into the evening, surprising Ravore with my ferocity.

***

I enter my chambers and head directly into the water closet, dripping in sweat. I spy Ceryn on the floor by the window, parchment unrolled at her feet.

I dip into the pool of steaming water lowered into the floor. My muscles are sore after hours of fencing, and my thoughts are tangled. I've neglected plenty of work today and must address it tomorrow.

After soaking in the bath and scrubbing my body clean, I dry myself and tie the towel around my waist.

Ceryn remains on the floor, reading parchment, which I assume she gathered from her lecture.

She looks up at me, looking out of sorts.

"Hello. I was just reviewing my notes from my lecture," she says.

"Why are you upset?"

"Oh," she replies. "I heard about the Xelathrums attack."

"I sent men to The Underhold to deal with it," I assure her.

She nods. "Yes, but I just can't help but think of which wards were attacked. There must have been deaths. There always are."

"I will share the report when I receive it."

A small smile curves her lips, though her dimples do not arise. I am disgruntled when I find myself searching for them.

"Thank you."

I change into a pair of loose pants, and Ceryn gathers her things from the floor. I sit on the edge of the bed and study her. Her brow is furrowed in concentration.

"How was your first lecture with Mael?"

"Difficult," she says.

"Look at me."

She looks up, obeying, though her expression still looks troubled.

"Tell me what's on your mind."

"It's…your engagement gift," she replies, biting her lip. "When will I receive it?"

My stomach curls. I promised her jewels and I will deliver, but I dislike her urgency. Ceryn is wrapped in an air of mystery. She seems genuine in her loyalty to her father but also greedy.

"You will get it soon, but why the haste?" I ask.

She doesn't reply, and I cannot blame her. She lived in poverty all her life and is entitled to luxury now that she is a royal.

But seeing her like this, demanding engagement gifts in the same breath that she worries about her people, makes my skin bristle.

Something is off.

She will be my concubine, but I will never trust her. I've got my own secrets that are bigger than me, bigger than life.

And I've already been burned by a female once. It won't ever happen again.

READ PART 10>

A/N: What do you think the shocking 'ceremony' is? 👀