Kryndor's Bride parts 6-7

Previously...

He throws the knife down at my feet, shouting over his shoulder, "Retrieve her father from his cell!"

There's an outcry as the men sitting beside him rebel, including Ravore.

"Silence!" the Xor roars. "I do not answer to any of you. Everyone clear the vrelling room!"

Everyone rushes to pack their things and get the vrell out of the room.

And then it's just the king and I. And I feel like I'm standing at the tip of the cliff overlooking the Unsailable Ocean. My feet are about to slip on the edge and send me pummeling to its cold, doomed depths.

PRESENTLY...

PART 6

KING VARKON

As I roar at the leering crowd to disperse, my hand remains clutching Ceryn's dress, keeping it from falling apart.

She trembles in my hold, looking at me with glassy eyes, their golden depths melted with fear.

That's the thing about this woman. She looks like the victim as she dangles in my hold while having her own scarred hands wrapped around me. One hand on my throat, and the other around my cock.

She is not innocent. Not harmless. The evidence is in the insanity she has driven me to. I've declared her as mine before the royal world.

With her dull, small dining knife, she cut out an emotion I didn't know I could possess: jealousy.

The room empties, servants and nobles leaving, their hushed whispers like fluttering leaves in the wind. Ravore stays behind, his teeth and fists clenching.

I release Ceryn slowly, and she moves her hands to cover her chest.

My eyes pin on my brother as I ask, "Why do you linger? I made a clear order."

"Brother," he grits. "There is still time to undo this…absurdity. She is a lowdweller! And what of Tephra? Her assault must be avenged! You cannot deny her justice."

"I will deal with Tephra and her family," I answer, scanning the floor. Looking at the vrelling mess I've made. "She will be given land as reparations."

"You can't just give our land away!" Ravore snarls.

My eyes cut to his. "Our?" I challenge, crushing the word mockingly. "Kyndor is mine. I'm the Xor. Now, obey and vanish."

His chest rises and falls quickly, and when they fasten on Ceryn, I wonder if I'll have to enact my earlier promise of breaking his hands.

Ravore huffs and puffs as he leaves, following the trail of hot whispers. And I wonder if the palace will combust.

I turn to look at Ceryn, who stares at the spoiled food on the floor. She's trying to make herself smaller, and yet she's all I see.

Legend says The kingdom of Konir was ruined because a Xor fell so madly in love with a woman, Roxxa, that he tarnished his kingdom by using dark magic from Zepharim to keep her. 

I always chalked the tale to be nonsense. But now… I'm beginning to think there might be some truth to the story because this lowdweller has just proven how powerful the right set of gold eyes, five-foot-stature, and a thick accent can be.

She made me lose control with her tricks and games.

Yes… Konir's ruin could've very well been because of a Xor obsessed with a woman. After all, Ceryn has proven a more unbelievable legend to be true: that it's possible for a young woman to blossom.

"What have you done?" I ask her, my voice booming through the empty room and spilling out the parted windows, seeking answers only found within the mind of this cunning woman. "What the vrell have you done?"  

She was supposed to learn her lesson and crawl back to The Underhold. All day, I heard murmurs about her. The noblewomen and servants hissed her name in jealousy. None of them paused to pray before her red sheets, which hung over the mezzanine. Instead, they glared like it was the banner of an enemy. I saw how they sneered when she entered this very room. All heads turned to her small frame, which stood out among the giant topdwellers. 

I thought it was working; that Ceryn was overwhelmed by the cruelty of the palace and wanted nothing but to run into the night.

But instead, she ran the wrong fucking way. Towards my table, not away from it.

She was on tonight's banquet menu. The nobles and servants were beasts chewing on her name. Making her watch as they tore her apart with their hushed whispers. Critiquing her small, weaker stature, cursing her blossoming, questioning her intelligence.

But she didn't let them eat her. She ripped their jaws apart, rising from prey to predator. 

When she approached my table with the dining knife and stabbed it into the wood, she essentially stabbed everyone dead in the vrelling gut. I know it killed them to see her prove their rumors wrong. She's not weak.

Then, when I tried to reel her in, she stabbed me too by ignoring my rejection and turning to my brother to offer herself to him when, deep down, I had already claimed her the second I laid eyes on her.

"It was for my father," she whispers, looking at me from under her lashes, her accent even thicker. "I meant no trouble. I just needed someone to help me."

"So you turned to Ravore?" I growl, my hand instinctively hooking around her waist, pressing her small body against mine. Inhaling her scent, feeling her trembles, hearing her shuttered breaths, glaring at her. So desperately trying to read what's behind those eyes. 

Who is this woman? Who is my concubine? Is she a descendant of Roxxa, here to ruin Arkon like her ancestor ruined Konir?

"Never," I press, my tone bitter, "Allude that another male can provide more than me."

Her golden eyes stare into my violet ones, the colors mixing, conjuring a poison that's spreading through my veins. A desire that's got me trembling just like she is, except that I don't show it.

She nods. "Can I see him?" she rasps. "Please, my Xor."

I release her, unable to bear the depths of her eyes.

"Guards!" I shout, and the doors are pushed open.

They enter without any particular rush. Perhaps aware that I'm in no immediate danger. Perhaps cautious of my foul mood.

Their metal-lined boots clank against the floor, and their swords remain sheathed at their sides. Lowering a knee and squeezing their fists, they pay their respects to me.

"What is taking so long? Retrieve the lowdweller male and bring him to me."

I hear Ceryn exhale with relief. I turn to her as the guards leave.

"He cannot stay here. You understand that, right? It would not be safe."

She nods eagerly, her injured hands clasped together. "I know," she replies, voice trembling. "I just want him home."

It doesn't take long for her father to walk through the tall doors. He has bathed, and his clothes changed, but his hair is knotted and his eyes dark from lack of sleep.

There's a slight limp to his walk, though I cannot tell if it's from an old injury or when the guards roughed him up.

Ceryn flies past me, her arms open as she goes to her father. They two embrace tightly, crying in each other's arms.

I realize this is the first time Ceryn freed her tears.

"You insolent child!" her father grits in Xali, their native tongue. "Why are you here? I told you to return to The Underhold!"

The only similarity between the two is their short stature. 

The old man looks angry until he looks over her shoulder and meets my eyes. Fear thunders in his wrinkled expression, and he bows his head, never releasing his daughter's hand.

"Ceryn has fought for you. She freed you," I tell him in Xali.

He looks at Ceryn in disbelief.

"My child," he whispers. "What have you done?"

That is the second time she has been asked this question. This is a testament to the fact that this woman is unpredictable. She has shaken both her father and king.

"I couldn't let them kill you," Ceryn says.

"That is not for you to decide!" he shouts, teary eyes looking like glass. Like Konir. A kingdom of pain and suffering. 

"It is between the gods and me, Ceryn!"

"The gods?!" Ceryn snarls. "The ones that destined me to be nothing?"

"That is not true!" he shouts, shaking her. "They left you for me to find. I took you in. You are my daughter."

"Tell me," Ceryn rasps, reaching for his hands and removing them from her arms. "Did you adopt me because you needed to fill the hole in your life that was left when your daughter died?" 

Her father–her adoptive father–I now realize, freezes. His eyes become misty with panic.

"I was another mouth to feed, but you took me in because you missed her." She lowers her head, her voice shrinking. "I only survived because you needed a replacement daughter. I refuse to prove the gods right."

I knew she was loyal to a fault to her father; willing to do anything for him. But now I see that she's also influenced by her insecurities. Her battle against her identity. Demons that look just like her.

Her father doesn't answer her questions, instead running around her with his limping legs and falling at my feet.

His black eyes are flooded with tears as he begs, "Please don't take her. My daughter wouldn't survive in prison! Have mercy, my Xor."

Ironic, I think. Because his daughter is the merciless one.

"I have no interest in taking your daughter as my prisoner."

The man lifts his face. Revealing eyes that don't resemble his daughter's. Haunted eyes that expect me to say the worst: That I will send Ceryn to the gallows.

"I am taking her," I say, glancing at Ceryn. "As my concubine."

My declaration doesn't bring him peace. He looks all the more horrified as if being my concubine is a worse fate than death.

I warned Ceryn of this, but she sealed her fate with a dull, silver dining knife.

"You will be escorted back to The Underhold," I tell her father.

"And you," I tell Ceryn. "Will be escorted to my chambers."

I walk away, headed for the exit, as Ceryn, her father, and the guards remain in the room. I hear their hushed, anxious whispers as I leave. Whispers that continue as I walk down the ancient halls of the palace that have seen plenty of controversy throughout the centuries, but perhaps none like this.

I head for the assembly hall, where I'm sure veilkeepers and ministers are gathered to argue against my brash decision. I've started a forest fire, but I am the leader of House Arkon. If I ask my men to dance in the flames, they must obey.

Unfortunately, in the wake of the accident, Tephra's face was scared. But there was thankfully no harm to her child. I will give her generous reparations to account for the mistakes of my concubine's father. And that will be the end of it because Ceryn is of House Arkon as of today. She is a protected royal.

My first concubine, and likely my last.

***

After hours of hearing ministers and veilkeepers arguing and staring at Revore's scowling face, I declare the matter settled, and I retire to my chambers, where Ceryn awaits.

I walk past the mezzanine and glance at my concubine's bloody sheets. A sight that should be worshiped, and yet everyone in the palace looks at it like an omen. My stomach tightens. I feel a lingering feeling that danger looms.

Inside my chambers, I find Ceryn staring out a tall window overlooking Arkon. Wearing the same dress as earlier, still torn at the shoulder. Her hands have been bandaged.

"Ceryn," I call for her, my voice rumbling throughout the vast room that looks untouched as if she has been standing in the same spot for hours.

"Your father will be safely escorted home. I've dealt with the ministers, and you are to report anyone who speaks against you. I'm too occupied to guide you through the palace, so the midwife you've met, Mael'azur, will show you the ropes."

I kick my boots off and reach for my clothes, spotting a few stains from when I toppled the dining table. A moment I won't live down, I'm sure.

"Expect engagement gifts from nobles starting tomorrow. You may also request one from me."

She turns slowly, revealing a freshly washed face. Tendrils of her hair sticking to her face.

She's startled when she sees my chest, knees slamming shut as if she has just been called to attention. I would be amused if not for her bloodshot eyes. Her separation from her father must have been teary. It's unfortunate, but it can't be helped. Her father is not safe here.

She lowers her face, hiding from me, and quickly rushes out, "I want jewels."

I am surprised by the vain request.

"Jewels?" I reply, hoping that I misheard her.

She nods. "Yes. A couple of them, please."

So this whole bravado isn't just to save her father. She wants something for herself, too.

Riches.

Maybe she's got more in common with the noblewomen than I originally thought. She's shallow like the rest of them.

I was right to not trust her. It has spared me some disappointment. But nevertheless, she is here to bear me an heir and raise it lovingly.

Business is business.

I keep my eyes locked on my concubine as I reach for my pants and undo them.

PART 7

CERYN

I spent hours looking out this giant, green-stained window made with the finest Glintspire glass. I was overwhelmed by all there was to see. The stone houses in the distance, the great waterfalls pouring out of the base of the palace, and the open, endless sky.

I find myself desperately missing my suffocating, small den. Its ceiling was just two feet away from the top of my head. All rocky and unstable, with its coppery color and earthy scent.

I hate how this palace has unreachable ceilings. It makes me feel small, an unnervingly familiar sensation. Perhaps this is how I felt as a toddler, sailing alone on a wrecked ship at the brink of death.

As my father begged me to go home, I could tell he felt the same. His eyes jerked around as he spoke with me. Examining every corner of the room like frightened prey that was being swallowed by this giant place with its tall citizens.

But there is no turning back. I am condemned to this palace.

Father questioned my mad scheme. He asked me how I would hide my true origins from these nobles. It's only a matter of time before my roots start showing and my heir is born with my features.

I have no answers, but what's done is done. And all I can do is keep fighting from here. Keep proving the universe wrong.

People in The Underhold have nothing, but at least they share blood. Origins. A history of survival. Orphans have no parents, but at least they grow up surrounded by people that look like them. I was not granted such comfort. I've always struggled with identity. And this whole journey–this whole fucking suicide mission to save my father, is a desperate cry to the gods that I am worthy. That although the Ocean spat me out, and father would've probably not saved me if his daughter were alive, and although I'm not a true lowdweller, I am not worthless.

I want to prove to myself and the world that I'm not a mistake meant for tragedy. And I want that more badly than I want air.

When the king returns to the room, my back straightens, and my nails dig into my bandaged hands, smearing the medicine underneath.

He undresses, revealing a chest that's mapped just like his kingdom, which I had just been studying. Abs lined perfectly like the streets outside. Valleys of chiseled muscle–something I've never seen before as I grew up surrounded by malnourished lowdwellers.

The models drawn in the medical books I read looked nothing like this. They didn't warn me that such a specimen could exist.

I lower my face before humiliating or insulting the man, and I think about his offering. His engagement gift.

My request is simple. I want jewels to send back home, but I can't trust that the king will honor my request if he knows it's meant for others. I will figure out later how to send them to my father.

"Look at me," he commands.

I obey, looking into his violet eyes, which have such a pull to them although he's across the room.

"I will honor your request."

My shoulders relax, a weight lifted off them. I'm relieved I'll be able to keep my father from starving.

"Why are you not yet in bed?" he asks. "It is late."

"I-I didn't want to risk spoiling the sheets with…my red."

He glances at the bed. "Your blood does not offend me." He pauses before asking, "When did it start?"

"When I was twelve."

Seeing that he's staring hard at me, I ask, "Do you…have any additional questions?"

"Yes, I do," he says, reaching for his waistband. His thumbs hook under the material, lingering there.

"Have any of your previous lovers ever fucked you while you had your red?"

My body rocks, a cold shock flushing through my veins. I've never been spoken to like this. So…brazenly. I didn't know the king's tongue could form such filthy words. I thought he was too noble, too cultivated.

The king pulls his pants down. And if I thought his chest resembled his kingdom's streets, then his cock is just like his palace. Erect and perched in the sky, daunting and consuming. Nestled between massive thighs designed to chase me down to the ends of Kryndor. And I very much feel like running right now. I'd sooner dive into Vak’thra's volcano than have that cock dive into me.

Does the Xor want to claim his heir tonight? Will he come to claim payment right now?

"Well?" he asks, disconcerned by his erection.

I can't stop staring at him. Besides all the intimidating, hard flesh, his physique is incredible, found somewhere between daydreams and nightmares.

"No," I rasp, looking at his eyes, and it is the truth.

I am no virgin. I had a fumble with a male friend from the mines when I was eighteen. But it was awkward and painful. We never quite spoke again, and I never tried to recreate the night. I didn't see the appeal. If I was going to feel pain, it might as well be while doing something productive, like working at the mines or on the cliff.

The king's eyes scan me, lingering around my waist. Staring intently, like he wants to grab the ripped seams of my dress and tear them further until I'm stark naked with my bare back visible to his kingdom through the window and my breasts exposed for his eyes to devour.

"Would you like that?"

His voice drops an octave, dipped in sin, and it takes me down with it.

My knees sway, and I choke on my own saliva. I cough a few times, my eyes tearing and my breathing shuddering.

And yet…as my cheeks heat with embarrassment, I don't look away from this behemoth of a male. His bright eyes hold me captive. A preview of what his bulk will do to me when he pins me to his luxurious bed and has his way with me.

He cocks his head to the side, staring at my shocked expression. Confused by it, as if he was discussing the weather. It's outrageous. No one has spoken to me like this before, and I certainly didn't expect such lewdness from a Xor.

His palace is orderly and beautiful. Not a drop of ink is out of place on the portraits that hang on the wall and the murals on the ceiling, and there's not a single unruly thread on his curtains and linens. And yet he proposes to take me with my red, smearing our bodies and the bed with such intimate blood. Desecrating the royal chambers.

"I–I'm not…" I swallow. "I'm not ready for…"

I cannot bear to finish the sentence. My face must be as red as the sky when desert windstorms taint the atmosphere.

"Breathe. I will not fuck you tonight," he says.

I should feel relief, but there is none. Because although I'm safe for tonight, eventually, I will lie beneath him.

His eyes dart to the bed. He approaches it, hard cock swinging unapologetically with every step. Casting a giant shadow on the smooth tiles.

I watch him walk up the two steps that elevate the bed and stand before it.

"The veilkeepers expect us to christen the bed tonight. It is custom," he explains, hand reaching between his thighs, though my view is now blocked.

"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.

READ PARTS 8-9>

A/N: Were you tricked? thought the Xor wanted some freaky freak? 😜