Page 82 of Kiss the Filthiest King

“That wasn’t very kind,” Darina admonishes. “I was shot by iron; it sucks.”

“A little dust doesn’t hurt anyone,” Ryther assures her. “Indeed, some take pleasure in it.”

“Oh?” There’s a note in her tone that I fully understand after last night. She’s intrigued.

“Yes. If you’re good, I’ll show you how.”

Damn, these two are bloody insatiable.

Before risking another tumble between two forces of nature, I put on my pants and the white linen shirt I wear under my doublet.

Against Ryther’s advice, I bypass the coat. If I’m to show off, might as well do it properly. The shirt’s open to my midriff, right above my navel. Leather strings can tie it up, but I leave them.

Frankly, I look like myself for once. Since I was made regent a hundred years ago, I’ve ensured I looked the part, wearing the proper brocade, gold stitches, red velvet, the finest silk. But for the two centuries prior, I barely even wore clothing. Down in the fighting pit where I was raised, clothes are a reward few are afforded. As one of the best, I was given pants, and a shirt just like this one, but no shoes. Certainly no coat.

Still, it’s the first time the leaders of Ilvaris will see me like this.

“What’s the plan today?” Darina asks.

“You’ve just been crowned. You’re supposed to hold a party, one that lasts for days. The lords here for the conclave will leave in due time, but others will come to greet the new queen: the courtiers from all over the land, renowned warriors, crafters, musicians. It won’t be much different from what happened after Loch crowned you. They’ll introduce themselves, and ask for boons, or offer gifts,” Ryther explains. “Some will offer their services to you. Other may ask for the high queen’s judgement on affairs beyond their lords. It’s important to make a note of who fail to come, more than those who show themselves. Loch and Relva will keep a record for you.”

She sighs deeply. “And here I thought things would calm down after last night.”

“You were poisoned last night, and almost forced to wed Junis the night before that,” I remind her. “Then, there were three days of being hunted through the Hollow. If we avoid curses, spells, and murder, I’d say the night will be positively mundane in contrast.” Once I’ve laced up my shoes, I make my way to the door, but I hesitate on the threshold. “Can you two be left alone?”

Ryther and Darina look at each other. He’s still completely naked, that powerful, muscular frame bare as he places the book he was reading on one of the shelves near the roaring fireplace. Darina’s under the covers, but likely also undressed.

In that one beat, I know what will occur the moment I leave. My own cock is taking a vacation, likely useless for at least a day after last night, but Ryther’s is standing to attention.

Freak.

I sigh, deeply. “I’ll send you another supervisor.”

I find Relva in the adjacent room, fussing with half a dozen dresses, adjusting a sleeve here, a fold there. “If you’re available,” I tell her, “the queen’s about to get fucked, and possibly choked to death without an overseer.”

“Well, that won’t do,” she decides. “I didn’t have all those dresses made for nothing!”

She takes a blue-black gown stitched with silver stars and rushes across the room. I wonder whether she’ll also get manhandled by the two beasts, or simply enjoy the show. I suppose there’s no logical reason why she should be fucked; after all, she’s also unseelie. But I’m starting to understand Ryther and Darina don’t need reasons so much as a half-decent excuse to give into their baser instincts.

The noises I hear passing by the sister’s room suggest the insatiability may be a family trait. Not quite sure who’s making her pant like this. For a moment, I wonder if I should check; plenty of folk would take pleasure in taking a mortal and ripping them apart. Whenever I saw her last night, she was ogled by at least a dozen people who looked like they’d like nothing more than to eat her up—most, literally.

But she has her own guard, and I have quite enough on my plate at the moment, so I walk down to the great hall.

As expected, my entrance doesn’t go unnoticed. Nor does my attire.

“Well, don’t you look like you were properly trounced,” Lark says, offering me a goblet filled with dark wine.

I take it gratefully. I ought to drink a healing draught instead, but wine will do for now.

“I was.” I grin over the rim of the golden goblet. “At least half a dozen times.”

“Oh?” Sorian prompts, her elegant wings fluttering behind her. “Please, tell.”

I do. I tell all, accepting more wine, letting others join our little circle, yet more shamelessly listening in on my exploits. Or rather, my surviving a fuck that could have crippled a lesser man.

“Then, I think, ‘fine, I can finally sleep, or die, whichever.’ Both options sounded dreadful. So, I collapse on top of the covers. I’ve only closed my eyes when I feel that brute mounting me.Again.”

They all laugh. So do I. It was positively ridiculous.

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