Game of Thornes Ch. 01

Just so we're clear: every character's 18+, consenting, and fully on board for this ride.

Still trying to get 'Bent by Steele'. Chapter 2 published.

In the meantime, here's another tale.

It's a bit of a blend--think Game of Thrones (minus the ice zombies, dragons, or actual magic), more of a grounded medieval political drama... just with futanari girls.

If that's not your jam, feel free to skip--no hard feelings.

But at its core, it's really just a human story.

About love, I guess.

What else is there?

======

Some people believe they were put on this earth for a purpose.

Duchess Isolde believed she was destined to rule an empire--and she was willing to carve one from blood.

Athena, Commander of the Talons of Thornmarch, thought her purpose was to live as a free spirit, untouched by thrones and bloodlines.

Lilith, Isolde's assassin and blade-for-hire, believed her purpose was survival--no matter what it cost her, or who she had to become.

I never believed I had a purpose--other than being a massive disappointment.

Turns out, we were all wrong.

======

The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, jolting my slender frame. I clutched my knees, trying to steady my nerves.

We descended into the Cloven Pass, a narrow road flanked by forested hills--one side sloping toward a marsh, the other rising into rugged ridges thick with underbrush. I pretended to focus on the tributary river below, barely visible through the trees. The curves of its bends, the way light shimmered off the water--I tried to sketch them as quickly as I could. Anything to avoid my father's gaze.

Across from me, my father dominated the confined space, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the carriage walls. Next to me, my older brother, Thomas, lounged with a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

I had no idea why they had dragged me along on this journey south.

Father's gaze bored into me, his eyes hard. "When we get there, I want you quieter than a fish, Darian. Understood?"

I nodded quickly.

"The Thornes are fierce warriors. The women even more than the men. They wouldn't care about anything someone like you has to say, anyway. And stop with those constant infernal scribblings of yours--you're not a scribe or an artisan, you're a noble. Act like one for once." He flicked his meaty paw at my notebook, smudging the page with his finger. A line I'd been working on--a curve of the riverbank--blurred into an ugly scratch.

I was a stark contrast to Thomas and my dad--delicate, soft-spoken, with features that mirrored my mother's ethereal beauty rather than Father's rugged visage. He had never forgiven her for birthing a son who reflected her lineage instead of his own.

"Then why bring me along on this trip, if I'm such an embarrassment?"

My father's slap rang terribly in the confined carriage, bringing tears to my eyes more from shame than pain. The slap brought up fond memories from my younger days under his tutelage. Nowadays, he treated me like I wasn't there most of the time. I think he stopped hitting me once he had given up on making me something less than a disappointment.

"Act like a child, and you'll be treated as one!" my father said. "You're here because I said you'll be here, and you'll not cause me any embarrassment in front of the Duchess, you hear?" His voice was low but menacing. "She is a shrewd woman--if you can even call her kind a woman. Everything you do will reflect on us."

I nodded quickly, holding my burning cheek.

Thomas smirked. As kids, he always enjoyed it when Dad's wrath was directed at me. "Have you decided how much of the vineyards you're willing to give away?" he asked.

My dad sighed deeply. "Nyssia, Lady of the Hearth, how have I wronged you that you cursed me with two idiot sons? I blame your mother's feeble lineage. Who said I'm going to give her an inch of our goddamn precious vineyards? She doesn't want them anyway."

"But... but her envoy specifically said she wants--"

"It's a red herring, you dolt," Father growled. "It's about time you started reading between the lines, Thomas, or, Nyssia be my witness, I swear I'll send you to the monks..." He didn't finish the threat but gave another sigh. "What she really wants is a partnership in the Nippon silk trade. She'll pretend the vineyards are a non-starter, then she'll pretend to forgo it--if offered something big in return."

"Will you give her a partnership?" Thomas asked.

Thomas had always been too stupid to learn the art of silence--especially around the one man it mattered with.

Father's slap on his cheek rang even louder than on mine. "Never!" He waved his sausage finger under Thomas's hawkish nose. "The silk trade monopoly is what puts bread on our table. It pays the salaries for all the soldiers and mercenaries that guard us from the northern barbarians. Do you know why it's so profitable?"

Thomas, his swarthy face a crimson humiliation, nodded. "Silk is expensive."

He got another slap for that, on his other cheek. "Because it is a m-o-n-o-p-o-l-y, you imbecile." Father was almost shouting. "We determine the market price. We determine how much merchandise is free for sale. How the hell is it going to stay a monopoly if we share it with that bitch Duchess? Huh?"

"I don't understand, Father." Thomas gave me a venomous stare.

And water still ran downhill. Thomas was the eldest, and about as clever as a dung cart in summer.

"If you're not going to give her the vineyards or the partnership in the silk trade, how is she going to consent to give us Castle Graywatch?"

"Because I'll offer something she craves." Father's temper, as usual, ebbed as fast as it flared--whenever he was thinking of something that stroked his ego, mainly thoughts on his own cleverness. "A blood pact between our families. A marriage."

And just like that, I suddenly understood why I was dragged along for the ride. The useless son finally had some use.

My thoughts immediately went to the carriage behind ours--the one carrying the most precious cargo. My beloved, Cirelle. Had my father known that Cirelle and I had secretly whispered the Vows of Binding before a Matron of Nyssia and tied the silver-thread ribbon, he'd have had her flogged and me gelded.

I had a secret betrothed--and that can be problematic when you're a pawn in the great political game of thrones.

"Isolde will probably want to marry you to one of the younger daughters." Father was looking at me, and I shuddered because I was afraid I was transparent. "Athena. Or worse, the Dutch's stepdaughter, Lenore. Do you think we should settle on either?"

"No reason to. We're talking about tying two of the Great Houses into one," I said quickly. "That's not a wedding--that's a velvet coup. Isolde won't pass on that kind of opportunity. We don't need to settle for one of the lesser daughters. We can ask for the Thorne heiress herself. She'll be too tempted to say no."

"See, Thomas?" he grumbled. "Feeble body, but a sharp mind. A clever tongue can win a thousand battles without drawing a blade."

Thomas gave me an -- I hate you so much and just you wait -- look. If Father had given up bullying me, Thomas never had. I think it vented his frustrations over his own shortcomings.

"Isn't Marian already married?" Thomas said.

"She can take me as a second husband or toss aside the one she has," I said. "I come with title and way more privileges than Count's son she's married to."

"Exactly!" Father nodded. "We settle only for Marian Thorne--nothing more, nothing less. That's why I need you on your best behavior, Darian. Act like you represent a powerful lineage, not your usual feminine self."

I believe the old mule wasn't even aware how hurtful he sounded.

"I'll not fail you, Father," I said, while already scheming how I'd slip the leash and vanish before sunrise with my beloved Cirelle. "Isolde will have to give us Marian."

"And Marian'll give you that fat thing between her legs," Thomas smirked. "Better clench hard, Darian. Down south they call it 'The Groom's Weeping Hour.'"

I gave him a hateful stare.

"I heard those futanari warriors are the best riders," he winked. "The only thing they ride harder than their war horses are their husbands."

"You're acting like a childish fool again, Thomas," father said. "Futanari or not, Marian can give-"

He never got to say what Marian could give, because Captain Bernard, my father's bodyguard commander, signaled our carriage driver to halt. Then he knocked on our window. He was riding his Davok (a northern warhorse breed), controlling the massive horse, thrice the size of a regular mount with the ease earned over years.

"There's a commotion up ahead, sire," he said. "Looks like bandits. They tried to ambush us behind those boulders--Russel is already giving chase."

"Hmm..." My father immediately opened the door and climbed onto the carriage roof. Thomas climbed down. I stayed inside, useless as always, and readied my pistol, just in case.

"Around the bend," Bernard pointed toward where the road curved left. "Sloppy buggers. Used a crossbow against an armored Davok--almost an insult."

I tried to follow his pointing, but there was nothing to see past the rocky ledges and dead trees to our left.

"Were they Dark Asps?" My father's voice boomed from outside and above.

"I don't think so, sire." Bernard scratched his beard. "The aftermaths of the Asps' attacks I've seen were calculated--almost military in their tactics. These guys were more like--"

Boom.

The musket shot ripped through the air--sharp, metallic, close enough that I felt the air snap across my cheek. It roared from somewhere above us. Bernard's eyes grew as wide as plates. He managed a single quiet "sire," before he collapsed and fell off his Davok horse. The massive beast, spooked without its rider, banged its side into the carriage, nearly tipping us over.

"Ambush!" my father hollered from the carriage roof, roaring like an enraged bear.

Hell broke loose.

More musket shots rang out. I saw another caravan guard fall. Black-and-green figures were jumping from the rocky ledges to our left.

More shots. Screams.

A rider on a slim horse charged us.

My father jumped off the roof, landing like a boulder. Quick for a man his size and age, he dragged Bernard's prone form under the carriage. Cool as if he were preparing breakfast, he took Bernard's musket, aimed slowly, and at the last moment shot the brigand charging us. The man screamed and fell off his horse, flailing on the ground, hollering curses. My father flipped the musket and, with the blunt end, crushed the man's face to a pulp.

You can say anything you want about my father. Craven he was not.

He grabbed the reins of the enraged massive horse and mounted him, hollering, "To me! To me!" One hand held his sword, the other grabbed Thomas's wrist and pulled him up to ride behind him. The giant mount, carrying both with ease, charged into the fray.

Useless me, as always, stayed behind.

More shots. More screams. The smell of smoke. The curses of men. An injured Davok screamed in pain, sounding like a massive trumpet.

The bastards had faked an ambush around the bend, luring Russel and our main force to give chase, leaving us exposed like a feast table without a guard.

I stared at the dead brigand. My father's strike had rendered the face unrecognizable. I couldn't tell if it had been a northerner, a southerner, or even a man. But he wore a black helmet and breastplate--both military-grade gear. Not your regular road robber at all.

Then, above the din of battle, I heard a scream.

Sharp. Feminine.

Cirelle.

I jumped out of the carriage.

Around me was chaos. Brigands burst from the trees, riding those slim southern horses. They were swarming the merchant wagons. Bodies littered the ground--ours and theirs.

My father was fighting up ahead, sword in hand, flanked by the few bodyguards who hadn't joined Russel's charge. I saw Andrew, a seventeen-year-old knight, charge his Davok into a brigand's horse's flank. The regular horse flipped head over heels like a ragdoll, despite weighing over a thousand pounds.

Then I saw Cirelle's carriage in the middle of it. One brigand was on the roof, grappling with the driver. Another--massive, over six feet tall--ripped the carriage door clean off its hinges. He bent inside and, to my horror, pulled my love out, screaming, by her long auburn hair.

I charged, hollering like a madman.

Cirelle kicked, scratched, and fought with a ferocity I'd never imagined my gentle music tutor possessed. The brigand grabbed her throat, choking her, then laughingly pulled her close for what looked like a mocking kiss. But Cirelle was having none of it--instead of a kiss, he got bite on his lips. She twisted viciously in his grip, sank her teeth deep into his exposed arm, and tore flesh. He roared in pain, then smashed his gloved fist into her face, and my love crumpled to the ground.

I took aim with my pistol and fired. I'm less than mediocre with a sword, but I can hit a bullseye at fifty yards on a bad day.

Fortuna was not my friend that day. Just as I squeezed the trigger, the bastard stooped down to grab Cirelle--and my shot flew an inch too high.

The brute turned to me--and my blood turned to ice.

Not a man after all. A woman. A futanari, judging by the size of her. Black-eyed, black-haired, tanned, sharp-featured--strikingly pretty in a predatory way.

She smirked when she saw me charging. Her lower lip was bloodied because of Cirelle's bite.

No time to reload. I used my pistol like a missile and hurled it at her head.

She ducked easily. Still smiling.

But it gave me just enough time to draw my pallasch.

I lied when I said I was a mediocre swordsman. I hate the grueling discipline it demands and avoid sword practice whenever I can get away with it. She, on the other hand, had the advantage--height, weight, strength, and skill. I was almost hypnotized by the intricate figures her shimmering sabre carved through the air. She wasn't slow; she moved with fluidity and grace. Her first strike nearly took my chin off. I countered, my blade barely kissing her plate. She shoved me hard, leveraging her weight to throw me backward.

"What's this?" she smirked then spat blood. "Northern girls have teeth."

I didn't bother correcting her. I was breathing too hard, searching for leverage.

"How old are you, boy? Twelve?"

"Your friends are losing. You'd better take off before my father's bodyguards cut you down."

"A noble's son?" Her smirk widened. "I bet your market price is steeper than any silk."

Shit. Stupid.

What she did next frightened me. She licked her bloodied lips--slowly, almost sensually. "You're prettier than any girl I've met. I bet you'll look good tonight under me."

Bitch.

I lunged. She sidestepped with ease, then countered with a vicious strike that slipped under my guard, grazing my left hand.

"Such a pretty little thing. I'll make you moan my name and crawl on all fours to beg for more." She thrust her pelvis. Probably thought I was an imbecile who needed visual explanation. I sure felt like one.

She lunged once, then again. All I could do was twist my body just enough to avoid the blade. The next basic move was to half-circle left and thrust--but she was simply too strong for that. I found myself giving ground, step by step.

You never block with a sword. You use it to knock your opponent's weapon aside--to make them think twice about reaching in. My hands ached. My breath came in shallow gasps. The bitch was smiling.

Another thrust--this time, as I countered, she grabbed my blade with her gloved hand.

I pulled.

Too late. She used it as a lever, turning it nearly a full circle toward me. And just like that, I had no weapon.

"I'll teach you how to use a weapon properly tonight." She rubbed her groin.

Then she was on me--shoving, punching. Her hand reached for my blond locks.

I screamed and reached for my knife.

She pinned my arm against my body. Her face was an inch from mine. She smelled of garlic--and of a dark future.

Nyssia save me.

And then she did.

The brigand's smile twisted into a pained grimace. She let go of me as a shadow loomed behind her--someone with a long dagger, striking once, twice, a third time, spraying me with blood.

She collapsed onto her back, and the dark figure stood above us both.

Another woman--no, another fighter. Blonde. Noble attire: a high-collared riding cloak of midnight blue over silver-threaded combat leathers--elegant enough for court, deadly enough for war.

My saving angel had slanted eyes, blue as the ocean and cold as the iciest peaks in the North. The first time I saw Lilith, all I could think about was that she looked like the angel of death.

She gave me a single glance--cool, appraising--then turned back to the brigand.

There was sudden recognition in the wounded woman's eyes; you could see it clearly in the way pain twisted into horror. She crawled backward and raised her hand, blood dripping from her wrist.

"Lilith, don't--"

She didn't finish the sentence. The newcomer leaned in and, almost as an afterthought, thrust her dagger up beneath her chin. She covered the brigand's mouth and watched, with detached interest, as the light ebbed out of those frightened, dark eyes.

I looked around. Newcomers were flooding the scene--soldiers wearing House Thorne's regalia: a wyvern over a blue field. They were followed by Captain Russel and his men, returning from their chase. The brigands were already backing off on their swift southern horses, fading into the trees. They left a few dead on the ground--some theirs, some ours. Two of the cargo wagons were on fire, our men already fighting it, trying to save the precious silk inside.

We survived.

I dashed toward Cirelle in panic. She was still crumpled on the rocky ground where the futanari brigand had struck her. Sobbing, disheveled. A bruise was already beginning to blossom beneath her eye--yet, miraculously, she seemed otherwise unscathed. I reached out, pulling her into a tight embrace, my own breath catching in my throat. Despite the risk of being seen, I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

At thirty-nine, she was the unmarried daughter of a Baron who fell from grace, once serving as my mother's devoted lady-in-waiting. After my mother passed away, she took on the role of etiquette and music tutor for Thomas and me--and during those lessons, something unexpected blossomed between us.

You might raise an eyebrow or whisper about an aging maiden captivated by a man half her age. I don't care.

She was the first person within the grand halls of our household--aside from my mother--who made me feel anything but a failure. Her presence was a comforting balm, a gentle reassurance that I was more than my shortcomings. Around her, I felt like a knight. The hero of my story. Not the court's jester.

"You're wounded," she cried.

"It's not mine."

"It is yours, you're bleeding, Darian."

Only then did I notice that the brigand had indeed slashed me--a shallow cut beneath my arm. With the adrenaline coursing through me, I hadn't even felt it.

Cirelle shifted instantly--from a trembling damsel to a motherly sister of mercy. Another trait I loved so much about her. She tore a strip from her dress and began dressing my wound with steady hands.

My father stepped forward on foot. He looked tired, streaked with black soot--yet unscathed.

The soldier-girl who had saved me was cleaning her dagger on the brigand's cloak. Then she rose and gave a short bow. "Commander Lilith of the Duchess's Hand, House Thorne's forward auxiliary," she said, her tone calm and exact.

"Duke Edgar Valemont," my father acknowledged. "Lucky for us you came."

"You were unlucky," Lilith replied. "My lady Isolde sent us to meet you. We were delayed at the river crossings--yesterday's storm slowed our vanguard. We should have caught up to you by nightfall."

"Still, good timing." My father gave a half-smile. "This was a planned ambush. They lured my heavy guard off with a false retreat."

Lilith nodded once, then knelt beside the body of the brigand she had killed. With quiet precision, she unbuckled the chestplate, peeled back the blood-soaked padding beneath, and tugged aside the torn linen shirt. Beneath it, on the woman's pale skin above her breast, was a branded scar: an asp, fangs bared, coiled around a broken sword. The scar was old and dark, unmistakable.

"Dark Asps," my father spat on the body. "I knew it."

"They probably mistook you for an ordinary silk caravan," Lilith said calmly. "Likely followed you from the ford. To them, you must've seemed especially lucrative--but even Asps know better than to hunt this far south."

"Will you chase them?" my father asked.

Lilith stood and bowed stiffly. "My duke, I would--if the circumstances were different. But I am responsible for delivering you to Thornemarch safely."

"Two wagons are completely burned, Father," Thomas said, stepping forward. He bowed to Lilith, stiff but correct. "Most of the silk is saved. Three others need repair. Three dead. Two guards will join them by nightfall. We have eleven wounded."

"As you can see, Lady Lilith," my father said, "we may be delayed a day or two."

"Like I said, I'm responsible for delivering you safely--and you're vulnerable here, on the road. It would be better if I escort you and your sons to Midferry. We can reach it by nightfall, and from there, take a riverboat to Thornemarch tomorrow. The river's quiet. No bandits."

"I won't leave my men vulnerable without my guidance," my father said quietly.

"I'll leave twenty of my best," Lilith replied. "I know this terrain. My people are trained to hold ground. We'll escort the damaged wagons and catch up within a day."

He shook his head--big as a bear, stubborn as an ass. "Duke Edgar Valemont does not leave men behind."

Lilith hesitated, then changed tack. "And I respect that. But your boy needs a healer, the sooner the better. That cut looks worse than he's letting on. And--"

He cut her off with a raised palm. "I won't leave my men."

Then, after a pause:

"Take the boy to Midferry to see that healer. You're responsible for his health. We'll catch up in a few days."

======

My plans to ride off into the sunset with Lady Cirelle that night were shattered. I was going to Midferry--leaving her behind. From there, the river would carry me straight to Thornemarch and to my future as a husband to a futanari warrior and a Duchess I didn't know and wasn't interested in knowing.

Just before I left, my father gave me a strict talk.

"I know this one. Lilith is Isolde's niece. There are dark rumors about that bitch. She'll keep you safe, but she'll try to pry loose every morsel of information she can. Be polite. Be correct. Tell her nothing. Keep your ears peeled for anything that might help us in the negotiations ahead."

So instead of plotting daring escapes, I found myself riding on Lilith's horse--her arms wrapped too tightly around me. Her steed was a slim southern breed called Velza, named after a desert wind. It looked more like a hunting hound than a horse. Sleek, sharp-boned, restless. It was powerful, with endless stamina, and the ground blurred beneath us at dizzying speed.

We rode with only five men, leaving the rest with my father for protection.

"Could you ease back, milady?"

She tightened her grip. "It's Lilith, little bunny. And why should I?"

"I am Lord Darian Valemont son of Duke Edgar, and you'll address me by my title."

"Of course I will, my little bunny lordling," she said, amused.

"And ease back."

She squeezed me tighter. I felt the soft press of her breasts against my back. "Why?"

"Because your... thing is rubbing my bottom."

"You mean my cock?" she said, cheerful as a baker on market day. "It's under my trousers. And believe you me, it would've done far more than rubbing if I'd let it out."

I had never heard a woman speak so crudely in my life--and today, two had spoken to me in that manner. Futanari women must be built differently. Upstairs as well as downstairs.

"It's your fault it's so hard, little bunny."

I tried to push her hand off, but she was far stronger--just like the brigand who almost had me today.

"Trouble, little bunny?"

"My hand's injured. Otherwise I'd have pushed you off your horse."

She laughed, sound of unfiltered wild joy. I could feel her body heat, the firm pressure of her arm around my waist as she leaned in closer, her hot breath on my neck. Then she shocked me--her tongue brushed my ear. Soft and warm, maddening. Gentle. It was an intimate touch. Loving, almost. The kind I'd dreamed of in my worst, loneliest nights. It hit something deep inside me. Which, of course, infuriated me.

"Stop it!" I screamed.

Her fingers played with my chest, like she was strumming a guitar. "Such a feisty little bunny. The rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"That Edgar of Valemont, the Bear, has a son more delicate, charming, and beautiful than any northern flower."

"Want to hear a northern rumor?"

She laughed. "Shoot."

"Don't tell anyone," I whispered conspiratorially, "but it's whispered that Duchess Isolde has a niece named Lilith who handles all her darker business."

Lilith chuckled. "I'm flattered."

"Some even say she's the Duchess's lover--gracing Isolde's bed now that the Duke has been missing all these years."

She pinched my nipple sharply through my shirt, and I flinched. "Careful, little bunny. Repeating rumors like that around here could leave you dangling from a rope--or in your noble case, headless."

"You knew her," I shot back, pinching her finger until she hissed and eased her grip on my chest. "She knew you, that's certain."

"Who did?"

"That brigand captain you skewered. She called your name."

"Everyone knows my name around these parts."

"Nuh-uh," I shook my head. "That was intimate. Between you two."

Lilith sighed. "Her name was Rosie. She was with the Blackthorn Company, years ago. She raped another guard who owed her gambling debts, then escaped before we could hang her. Must have fallen in with the Asps."

"You didn't have to kill her, though. She might have given us intel."

She reached up and playfully pinched my nose from behind. "You're a nosy little bunny."

"Must be all my youthful charm rubbing off on you, Lilith--or was that just another false rumor?"

She exhaled softly, pressing tighter against me, the firm presence in her trousers unmistakably tense and wanting. I hated admitting it, but it sent a thrill racing through me.

"No," she murmured, "you're simply too smart for your own good, little bunny. Too smart, but still full of clueless, youthful charm."

"Yours must've leaked. You have none left."

She laughed, genuine this time. "How old are you, bunny?"

"Nineteen."

"And what's a nineteen-year-old Duke's second son worth on the market these days?"

She was sharp. I should've kept my mouth shut. "Huh?"

"'Huh?'" she echoed mockingly. "I bet you're worth more than a few northern vineyards. Perhaps even more than a stake in the silk trade. I envy Marian."

So much for keeping quiet and revealing nothing. She'd guessed everything. "What are you blabbering about?" I tried weakly.

"You need to work on your subtlety, bunny. My horse can pretend better than you. Why else would your father drag his second son south, accompanied by wagons loaded with enough silk to pay a bride price? You can't marry Isolde herself--though I'm sure she'd be delighted. She goes mad for youthful pretty boys, and you're the prettiest I've seen."

"Afraid I'll replace you, Lilith?"

She slapped my cheek lightly, playfully. "Your father wouldn't settle for Athena and certainly won't settle for Lenore. Which leads me to the obvious conclusion: Marian. I envy Marian."

"Why bother asking if it's so obvious?"

She ignored my question. "Have you ever been with a futanari girl before, Darian?"

"You rubbing yourself against me doesn't count?"

She ground her crotch deliberately against my backside and sighed theatrically. "Sadly, no."

"Then I happily declare myself futanari-chaste."

"That wound of yours isn't really pressing," she purred. "We could take a small detour--there's an abandoned mill nearby. I could teach you everything you've been missing."

"You're amazing, Lilith. Do you even have boundaries? Any red lines at all?"

"I know you want to."

That was an evil thing to say--and too close to the truth. "Fuck you," I muttered.

"Yeah, that's the spirit."

"Lilith, if you lay your filthy hands on me, again, I'll tell my father. Ever seen Duke Edgar of Valemont, known as the Raging Bear, get truly angry? I have. You don't want to see that, trust me."

"I don't think you'll tell him."

"You want to bet your life on it, Lilith?"

She chuckled softly, coldly. "Because if you do, I'll tell him you're fucking that aging handmaiden of his. Didn't quite catch her name. Arielle? Cirelle? Which was it?"

That didn't just chill my spine--it felt like the entire North had invaded my bloodstream. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Seriously, bunny. My horse could give you lessons in subtlety."

"I have never laid with her, we are both chaste."

Lilith snorted.

"What gave me away?"

"The fact you risked your life for her? Well that was a clue. And that kiss was sweet, I saved you but I didn't get a kiss."

"Oh."

"But I wasn't sure till you just admitted it, bunny." She chuckled. "Keep your cards close to your chest."

"Shit!"

"You're young, you'll learn. Nineteen? Velhara's tits, I can't remember what it was like to be so naïve."

"No, I mean shit, I'm bleeding through the bandage. I think that bastard cut me deeper than I realized. It's starting to burn."

"Bah. Pity. I had such plans for that mill, you'd have learned more than subtlety, bunny. Lets take you to the healer."

======

Another hour of swift riding saw us in Midferry. After visiting Velhara's small temple and a sleepy priest who was a healer, we ended in a local inn. The Blushing Maiden.

"He did a good job, considering." I unrolled the fresh bandages to look at the new stitches underneath. The arm still hurt, but it was a low, constant pulse--dull enough thanks to two cups of ale warming my gut. The downside? While I use both hands almost equally well, I usually draw with my left. I was trying to capture Rosie--the brigand who almost killed me. The way her dark curls spilled out from under her helmet. Not just the shape of them, but the wildness that framed her smirk as she nearly gutted me.

I frowned, switched the pencil back to my injured left, careful not to strain it too much. Some lines didn't want to be drawn by strangers.

"You'll have a nasty scar. Something to tell the kids one day," Lilith said, lounging across from me in her chair. "I'd change the story, though. Make it sound more heroic than losing to a girl. Say you took on five men. With a spoon."

Before taking another sip, she casually tipped a few drops of ale from her cup onto the floor beside the table, where a small alcove housed a statue of Velhara--bare-breasted, wide-hipped, cock standing proud, grinning with a goblet raised in one hand and a dagger in the other.

"By Velhara's tits and temper, may your stitches hold and your cock stay pretty," Lilith muttered.

I blinked at her. "That's how you heathens pray?"

She shrugged. "Tradition. You spill a few drops, toast the goddess of indulgence, luck, and questionable decisions. It's rude not to. Go on."

"We only pray to the King of Banners and the Lady of the Hearth up north."

She downed her glass in a single go, then burped like a mule driver. "Your future wife only swears to Velhara. Better get used to that." She squinted at me, eyeing my notebook. "Now, what in Velhara's cock are you scribbling all the time? A love poem?"

I shrugged. "Just something I like to do."

She grabbed my notebook despite my sharp protest and started skimming through the pages. "Nice." She pointed at a portrait of Cirelle laughing--one I'd drawn after buying her that little silver necklace from the fair near Mornhall. She had covered her mouth and called it too much, but she had laughed all the same.

"You subtracted at least ten years."

"When you love someone, their beauty is ageless," I muttered, quoting Master Orvain's The Fine Art of Courting--and regretted it immediately. Sitting here in a foreign place, across from a woman who killed without flinching--with the same hands that had taken such casual, terrifying liberty with my body--Master Orvain suddenly sounded like a blind eunuch in a perfumery.

Lilith must've thought so too, because she gave a loud snort at my comment. Then she turned to the last page, and her slanted eyes narrowed. "You've painted the ambush. And this is Rosie." She gave a low whistle. "The bitch looks more alive than she ever was. This is... gods, this is amazing."

She flipped the book toward me, then back. "You got her smirk. Even the stupid mole on her jaw. Creepy."

I nodded. "I often paint from memory. I have an extraordinary one."

She arched a brow. "Extraordinary memory and cheekbones? What a lucky little bunny. Why her?" Her finger traced the lines on the page. "She was just a brigand."

"I don't really know." I shrugged. "She almost killed me. I guess that makes her important."

"It's a gift," Lilith said. For once not mocking.

There were just the two of us at the inn, us and the jumpy owner who brought us food and drink then disappeared to the kitchen.

A single soldier with the Thorne crest stood by the doorway--a tall, lanky fellow, scanning everyone passing by. A bunch of burly wagon masters and guards, rugged men in dusty coats fresh from the road, filtered in from the street. They took one look at the Thorne soldier, then backed out, whispering among themselves.

Maybe House Thorne's Duchess's Hand company wasn't so loved. Not surprising, considering the person leading them.

"Where've the rest of your men gone?" I asked.

"You're very nosy for a bunny."

I shrugged. "Just curious."

"We have a saying down south--curiosity turned one lad into a soprano, and no one's heard from the other since."

Maybe it was the dim light of the oil lamps and beeswax candles. Maybe it was the ale settling warm in my gut. But she didn't look quite as menacing now. Just a thin, tall girl with dirty-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a cruel, knowing smile.

Pretty.

I had to remind myself I'd seen her extinguish a life with less emotion than a man snuffing a candle.

My thoughts kept circling back to Cirelle, and how utterly hopeless this had all become. I ran through a hundred impossible scenarios. I couldn't escape with her--not here, not in a place I didn't know, surrounded by people I couldn't trust.

So I took a bet.

A wild one.

"Lilith," I said quietly, "I have a confession."

She took her second cup much slower then the first, enjoying it. "I hope it's juicy."

"It's the sort of thing they write songs about, and then ban the songs."

She didn't look up from her cup, but I knew it was a show. The slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

"This is... not about politics."

"You're the son of a duke. Everything about you is politics."

"It's about Cirelle," I said. "And Marian."

Her brow arched. "And that's not politics in your book?"

"I had no idea I was being marched south for a marriage alliance. My father likes to keep me in the dark."

She snorted. "Can't say I blame him."

"Want me to shut up?"

"You're already committed. Go on."

I took a long breath. Closed my eyes. Opened them.

"Two weeks before we left, I asked Cirelle to marry me. We whispered the Vows of Binding before a Matron of Nyssia. Tied the silver-thread ribbon."

She blinked. Then frowned. "You're jesting. Please tell me you're jesting. You're not that fucking blessed, are you?"

I pulled out my necklace and showed her the silver-thread ribbon tied around it.

Lilith burst into laughter, the kind that folds a body in half. It took her a while to come down from it. "You stupid, beautiful idiot."

"If my father catches wind of this, I'll be gelded. She'll be whipped. Maybe exiled. Maybe worse."

"I bet." She sobered. "So he's offering you for Castle Graywatch?"

"You already guessed that."

"What I don't get," she said, leaning back, "is why you're spilling your entire soul on the table. There's got to be a request coming at the end."

"I won't go through with this marriage. I can't. I love Lady Cirelle." I met her eyes, steadier than I felt. "I need your help to escape."

"You trust me?" She said, suddenly tender.

"No. But I have no one better so I'm putting my money on you."

"You're a bloody idiot, that's what you are."

"Will you help me?"

She sipped from her cup, then licked a drop from her lip with maddening slowness. "No."

That caught me off guard. "No?"

"You're asking for a whole lot," she said, her voice flat. "To go against my Duchess... and your father, the Raging Bear."

"I have money," I said.

"So do I. Lots. You've got nothing to offer, bunny."

I straightened in my seat, trying to sound worldly. "I think I do." I took a deep breath. In the next minute, I'd have to rely on a skill I didn't possess. I gave what I imagined was a slow, meaningful look--half princely, half smolder. "I think I do, because Edgar of Valemont, the Bear, has a son more delicate, charming, and beautiful than any northern flower."

She stared.

"I mean," I continued, leaning forward and doing my best to deepen my voice--like my niece Amanda used to do around me, all throaty and lethal, "what about... a private alliance?"

There was a pause. A long one.

Then Lilith threw her head back and howled with laughter.

That went well as a maiden at a brothel's hiring fair. "Fuck you, Lilith!" I rose. "I'm off to bed."

I was halfway up the stairs when she was suddenly on me, slamming my back against the wall.

The inn's manager--a chubby, rosy-cheeked woman--opened her mouth to protest. Lilith gave her a single look. Sharp as a dagger. The woman vanished into the kitchen like smoke.

I tried to push her off, but she slammed me back, hard enough that my bones rattled. Her body was all grace and sudden, brutal strength. She smelled of iron, campfire and blood.

It thrilled me.

"Did I give you permission to walk away, bunny?"

"Fuck you!"

She stooped, until her ice-blue eyes were level with mine. Her breath was hot against my lips. My blood couldn't decide whether to freeze or boil. Fear and want dancing like smoke and fire.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" she whispered.

"I'm not scared of you," I lied.

"Because you're stupid." She smiled without warmth. "I killed my first man when I was twelve."

Somehow I didn't doubt that.

"You're a spoilt brat, Darian."

"I was bullied all my life, you're nothing special, Lilith." I kneed her between her legs. Futanari own a pair of balls, don't they?

Turned out, yes. They just happened to armor them--like men do. I hit a solid plate down there. The pain jolted up my thigh, and I nearly collapsed--if it weren't for her strong hands keeping me upright.

Her hand gripped my thigh, and I glanced down. Long fingers--delicate, but strong as steel. They looked good on my dark breeches. Too good. Like they belonged there.

"What are you doing?" I asked, but I didn't move to stop her.

"I do what I want," she said. "Only this time, I'm asking you."

"I didn't hear a question."

"Tug your breeches down. Close your eyes. I'm going to bring you off."

"No, you're not," I said, trying to laugh. But my voice cracked. Something inside me cracked. Some strange fight-or-flight snapped awake. I felt alone--pinned, small, vulnerable in a way I'd never been before. This madwoman could do anything she wanted, and no one would dare stop her.

"Tug them down, Bunny." Her hand crept higher, squeezing with calm certainty.

I tried to glare at her. A harsh stare. It only made her smile turn evil. Her fingers traveled up, nudging where my thighs met, steady, relentless. "You want this."

"I want a deal, Lilith."

"Bullshit. Deal or not, you want this."

My eyes locked on that cold, cold blue ice. I chuckled. "Go ahead."

She didn't jump. She took her time. Still watching me, she reached for my belt. Slowly. Deliberately. Like she was unwrapping a gift she'd earned. Her hand slipped under my doublet, then crawled beneath my linen shirt, flattening against my stomach. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you, little lording. I can't wait to see the rest of you."

"Yeah?" I pressed against her roaming fingers. Her fingertips traced my belly, teased my navel, driving me wild. "You only get to see me naked if we make a deal, Lilith. I want out of this damn marriage."

Her fingers paused their dance, and I ached for them to continue. "You haven't seen what the Thorne's court has to offer, Bunny. The old duke's daughters are red flame, both a thousand times prettier than that old maid of yours."

"I love her."

"Stupid, selfish little bunny." Her hand dragged downward, moving way too slow, making me squirm, knuckles grazing through my pubic hair now. Her index finger curled, stroking the tip of my cock. Nobody had ever touched me there. Nobody had ever touched me like that. My head felt underwater, sounds fading. I wanted this--her--so much. I needed to cut a deal.

"Stop!" I almost begged.

"You can't tell me you don't want it when your body's begging me to fuck it."

"You're so crude," I said, closing my eyes, shifting my weight, her finger driving me insane.

"I'm a bad woman, Bunny, and you love to hate me."

"That's true," I hissed, clenching my ass, wishing, hoping she'd wrap her fingers around me already. "I hate you. I need you..."

"You need me inside of you."

"I need you to cut a deal."

Her fingers stroked and teased, sliding along my erect cock, taunting. Touching and retreating; I rolled my hips forward, chasing more friction. She gave it to me. Two fingers gripped my hard member, and I let out a satisfied groan that betrayed what I'd kept hidden.

I wanted her. I was denying it, but I wanted it all. "Oh, ah, mm, Nyssia, goddess," I gasped, squinting, swiveling my hips. "A deal..."

"What exactly you had in mind?" She said, steadily pulsing and caressing, her fingers on my pulsing cock, curling, stroking, touching an insane dance on my hardness, that had my legs jumping, a weird urge to pee storming through me. I grunted, gave a soft breathy laugh. "Nyssia, what are you doing to me?"

Her voice was a gravelly whisper: "Giving you what you need."

"A deal," I gasped, a release, loving hearing my own breathy voice making the request. "I need..." I needed to cum. "I need to disappear East. Across the sea into the Empire, with Cirelle."

She tugged my crotch with her hand, hoisting my whole body, bringing me closer, wedging my ass into the wall, my shoulder touching her chest. "Yeah, you're so fucking hard, Bunny, so fucking hard. I could get inside your ass when you're like this .  .  . Use your own want as lube."

"Me and Cirelle--we just need to get to Port Griffin. I have money. We'll take a boat into the Empire and start fresh."

"I'm going to satisfy you in ways you didn't know possible, Bunny," she rumbled against my ear, voice like smoke and silk. Her breath was hot. Her other hand slid behind my head, fingers threading into my hair, tilting me with terrifying care. Her palm stroked the side of my neck--slowly, possessively.

I needed control. I wanted her.

I wanted her help.

A sharp whistle pierced the room--short, rising, unmistakably trained. It was the Thorne guard by the door, giving Lilith a stare and a sharp nod that said, 'trouble'.

Lilith stiffened against me.

"What is it?" I asked, breathless, dazed.

"Make yourself presentable, little lordling. Quick." She peeled away from me and settled back into her chair near her ale, as casual as a fox caught mid-feast pretending it wasn't licking blood off its snout.

I sat beside her, hands in my lap, trying to calm my breath, heart hammering in my ribs like it was trying to escape.

There were voices outside--low, firm. Boots on stone. More than one.

Lilith leaned toward me, lips barely moving, her eyes locked on the door. "What would you give if I arranged for a man to sneak you both into Port Griffin? And find a smuggler to take you across the sea--to Velvaren?"

"Anything. Anything you want, for one night."

Her mouth curved, wicked and triumphant. "Deal. Sneak into my room tonight, once the inn sleeps." She leaned back, sipping her ale like nothing had happened. Then, just before the door creaked open, she murmured: "By the first hour of Velhara's blush. And do us both a favor--take a bath first. You stink of horse, sweat, and desperation."

The inn door slammed open like it owed someone an apology.

A woman stepped through like she owned the floorboards and the town around it--maybe she did. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Her armor was scratched and sun-dulled in places. It had seen more roads than barracks. The sword at her hip hung low, not ceremonial--used. Her rust colored braid was tight but tousled by wind and sun, a red whip. She didn't walk--she prowled. Like she didn't care. Like rules were something for other people. Every step sounded like confidence had grown legs.

The Thorne soldier at the door snapped to attention, fist to chest. "Commander."

She gave him a look like she was trying to decide whether to demote him or feed him to her horse.

She gave me a brief scan, like I was something the cat's smelly cousin dragged in, then her eyes zeroed on Lilith. A clash of fiery green against ice blue. Something passed between these two women. I saw resentment, but also cautious respect. Both ways. Like weighing an appreciated enemy.

"Funny seeing your slippery arse and your snake-pit lot here, Lilith," she said, her tone all steel and zero warmth. "You were supposed to be patrolling Lowwater Crossing by now."

"Long story, Dice-Maiden."

The redhead sat across the table from us, smiling like a wolf spotting a rival from another pack. "Last man who called me that I'd sent him home with his balls around his neck rattling like dice."

Lilith shrugged. "Any time, any place, Athena. I always knew there'd come a moment we'd meet with steel. I thought it was years ahead--but why postpone the inevitable?"

So that was Athena. The younger sister of my bride-to-be. Soon to be my sister-in-law.

Lilith hadn't lied about the Duke's daughters. If her sister was anything like her, then my intended was very easy on the eyes.

Athena had that effortless beauty that made men start wars--and the effortless grace of a big cat. You'd probably smile like an imbecile right before it ate you.

Athena reached across the table and took my ale cup. She raised it to her lips, then paused. Lowered it. Looked at it like it had shortchanged her. Then turned to me. "You're not leaking rot out your cockhole, are you, sweet thing? No boils nesting up your arse like rat pups?"

"Did a donkey kick your manners out at birth?".

Athena winked at Lilith. "Prickly little guy. Way more class than your regular sluts. Gods, but you're a sweet looking, boy. How much is she greasing you for? I'll double it--and toss in a sack of oats for your bruised knees."

Turns out my would-be in-law had a mouth fouler than a mule driver-- and she immediately pegged me for a common whore. Charming. This marriage--still pending negotiations, strong wine, and at least one unnecessary joust--was already off to a brilliant start.

"I'm not a strumpet," I muttered.

Athena barked a laugh. Gods, this girl was really starting to get under my skin. She raised her palms in mock surrender.

"Calm down, love. I insult whores, not art pieces."

"Yeah, I've heard." I nodded.

"Pretty boy got sharp teeth." She reached out to caress my cheek across the table.

I flinched.

"Where did you get him, Lilith?"

"He's not a whore, idiot," Lilith said dryly. "He's Duke Edgar Valemont's son."

"Pretty enough to be his fucking daughter." Athena laughed--then sobered when she realized no one else was laughing. "Wait. You're serious?"

I held up my hand. The ring wasn't much to look at after weeks on the road. Tarnished. Caked in dust. But the seal was unmistakable: a wyvern coiled around a crescent, stamped in silver.

Athena gave a short, unimpressed whistle. "I think I owe you an apology, my lord."

"I'm all ears."

"Don't take it too personal, sweet cheeks. I don't do apologies." Then her green eyes turned calculating. "That long story you were going to tell, Lilith? I think it's high time you start telling it."

Lilith ordered another tankard of ale. "Caught the Duke and his entourage just entering Cloven Pass. They got ambushed by Asps."

Athena sucked air through her teeth, sharp and low.

"We chased them off. A few dead, plenty of injuries--including..." she thumbed toward my bandaged arm. "I took him to a healer. The Duke's probably a day or two behind."

Athena gave me a short scan. Like she was re-evaluating me. I felt like I'd just been promoted from dirt to mildly disinteresting. "You were injured in a fight against Dark Asps?"

"I took on five men," I nodded. "With a spoon."

"Weird," Athena said.

"It was a big spoon."

"No, weird that you were there, Lilith. It's nowhere near Lowwater Crossing."

"Isolde's orders," Lilith smiled--all teeth. "And what noble errand brings the Stone Talons down from their perch?"

"Marian told me to take the Talons," Athena said, "find the Duke, and escort him to Thornemarch."

So there were different factions in the 's court. Isolde, the de facto ruler, was one. Marian, my would-be betrothed and the de facto heir, was another. The fact that both gave the same order to two different branches of Thornmarch's army suggested either a total lack of coordination--or something deeper.

Unless... unless Lilith was lying.

I filed that under "maybe useful."

"When was the attack?" Athena turned to me.

"High noon. We rode into Midferry less than two hours ago--on those quick southern horses of yours." Then I added, though she hadn't asked. "There were more than thirty of them. Well-armed, well-coordinated."

She nodded, suddenly serious. "Sounds like Asps." She whistled--sharp, three fingers--three short bursts.

A soldier rushed in.

He was tall, lean, with the long-legged build of someone who spent more time in the wilderness than on parade. His cloak was dull, patched in muddy hues for camouflage, and his boots were worn from actual travel. He carried no banner, only a short recurved bow, a long knife, a pistol, and a look of sharp readiness.

He bowed respectfully to Athena... and gave Lilith a glance that said, "I wish I could choke you in your sleep, snake."

"Commander?"

"We ride for Cloven Pass. We'll be hunting Asps tonight. How long till we're ready, Captain?"

The man wiped sweat and dirt from his brow. He looked like he needed a bath and three nights of sleep, not a a hard ride.

"Less than an hour, Commander."

"Pick me up when you're done. Leave three here."

The man bowed again and marched out without a word.

"So..." Athena stretched her legs out under the table. In the dim oil lamp light, I could suddenly see the dark circles under her eyes. "You must be Lord Thomas." She wrinkled her nose--a funny little gesture, completely out of sync with the rest of the Athena show. "No, you're Lord Darian. The second son. The one they say is prettier than any northern rose. I thought you'd be taller."

"I thought you'd be drunker." Two can play the game of insults. "You're the one they call Dice-Maiden, no?"

"Red Siren. Queen of Pricks and Poker. Once got dubbed the Whore of Thornemarch after I drank a knight under the table and fucked his dignity out his mouth." She smiled like a shark. "Do I look the part?"

"You look..." I hesitated. "You look very tired, my lady," I said with a bow. "And you look like someone who plays the whore better than most men play the hero. But I don't think you're either. Just a mask you like to wear."

I think I caught her off guard. She didn't laugh. Didn't snap back.

She just stilled.

"Why?" she asked, voice softer, that bravado of hers blurring at the edges just a little.

I shrugged. "People do that. Wear masks."

"No," she said. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you look like someone who should hit a bed for twelve hours... and instead you're gearing up to chase dangerous people into the hills. That's not indulgence. That's something else entirely. And your man--he didn't even flinch when you told him."

"That's his job," Lilith smirked.

I shook my head. "That's respect. Hard men like him don't respect whores."

Lilith gave me a hard stare. She looked pissed. I'd wager none of her men ever gave her respect. She ruled by fear.

Athena's green eyes narrowed.

For a second, I thought she might punch me. Or maybe kiss me. Probably both. Then she stood up. The smile was back on. Cool. Controlled. "I'll leave three of my men to guard your door at night, Lord Sweet Cheeks. I'll be back with your father and his men in three days. Try not to let Lilith shove her cock up your fanny--you don't know where it's been."

======

I bathed like I was about to meet the Empress herself. The water was lukewarm and the soap smelled faintly of pine and charcoal.

The Stone Talon Athena posted outside followed me to the bathhouse, of course. Didn't say a word. Didn't turn away. Just stood like a shadow that might kill you if you moved wrong.

He also stood between me and Lilith's door.

I scrubbed until my skin stung.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He looked at me--surprised. Like I was a monkey who'd learned to talk through divine intervention. "Sergeant Daniel, sir."

"Been long in the Talons?"

"Five years."

His voice was rough, rasping--not deep, but like it caught on something in his throat. An old wound, maybe. The kind of scar that doesn't heal clean. Every word sounded like it had to fight its way out past torn muscle or a split windpipe.

Like his captain, he was tall and lean. Built to disappear in trees and strike from shadows. Not chatty.

It took a a whole lot of questions to learn the following info: He was thirty-two. Son of a smith. His wife died two years ago. He had a four-year-old son living with his mother.

Masterful reconnaissance work, Darian. Give yourself a pat on the shoulder, idiot. No wonder everyone thinks you're a failure.

Still, it never hurts to try. "You know, you don't have to babysit me, Sargent Daniel. I've got a loaded pistol, I'm a decent shot, and I'm not helpless with a sword."

He nodded politely. Which is to say: he didn't believe a word of it.

I gave him my most honest smile. "We're in a walled city. Inside an inn. Surrounded by soldiers. You're dead tired. Seriously--go to bed. I'll tell your commander when she's back that you guarded me like the Crown Jewels."

He gave me a look colder than the northern peaks. "Commander Athena told us to watch over you. If she told me to stand at your door until next year, I would stand here until next year. Understood?"

So much for your guard-corrupting charm, Darian. Top score. Go dive in the bath and drown yourself.

Back in my room, I dressed.

Silk.

Midnight blue. Fitted close around the chest, looser in the sleeves. The kind of fabric that whispered when it moved.

The trousers matched. Silk again. Because being a Valemont means having silk where others have pride. I looked at myself in the room's crooked mirror--flushed skin, tousled hair, high collar. I looked like a courtesan pretending to be royalty. Or royalty pretending to be a courtesan.

Either way--it would do.

I dug into the bottom of my satchel, the one with the old things I never unpacked. At the very bottom, wrapped in a crumpled handkerchief, was a small wooden horse and rider--paint chipped, hooves dulled. I'd played with it as a boy, back when I still believed stories always ended with heroes and homecomings.

I turned it over once in my hand. Then I opened the door and held it out to Daniel.

"For your son," I said. "If he's anything like me at that age, he'll make the rider a prince and the horse breathe fire."

Daniel didn't reach for it at first. Just stared.

"I know what it's like to grow up without a mother," I added quietly.

He nodded, wordless, and took it with both hands--careful, like it might break. He gave a shallow bow. No smile. Charming fellow.

I shut the door again. Let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Now I just had to wait for the first hour of Velhara's blush.

I paced the room for a bit. Sat. Stood.

Stared at the door. At the guard's shadow under it.

Through the open window, the moonlight stole in like a thief. Cirelle and I used to sneak out on nights like this--I'd bring my lute and sing her eternal love poems I wrote. She'd call me her angel, and clap every time, even though my prose--like my lute playing--was worse than my swordsmanship. My mother left a hole in me when she died, and Cirelle was the first person since to fill it. "I'm doing it for you, my Cirelle," I whispered. "For us."

Then I looked in the mirror--and winced at the liar staring back. Because I wasn't going to Lilith tonight for escape. I was going because I wanted to. She repulsed me on so many levels--but my knees trembled at the thought of her hands on me. Her mouth. Her voice. She made me feel small and wanted at the same time. It was terrifying. Addictive.

Then I thought about Athena. The foul mouthed girl who treated me like an inconvenience. The girl for whom the guard outside my door would follow into the abyss. She was everything I wasn't. Strong. Sure. Respected.

Three women: One I lusted for. One I envied. One I loved. And none of them knew the whole of me. Maybe I didn't either.

I stepped outside the window.

The stone was cold under my bare feet. The ledge was narrow, but the wall wasn't smooth.

I moved slow. Careful. Silent.

Eyes scanning the windows ahead. Lilith's room faced the garden.

In stories, heroes leapt from rooftop to rooftop and swung from chandeliers like falling was just another kind of dance.

In real life--when I looked down the three stories to the cobbled courtyard below--my stomach tried to wrestle the ale back up my throat. My knees turned to broth, and I barely managed to perch on the naked marble statue of Velhara that jutted from the wall below the third floor.

Velhara, goddess of pleasure and poor decisions, grinned in stone--hips cocked, breasts bare, and a very erect detail that I grabbed instinctively to keep from tumbling. "Forgive me, my lady," I whispered, forehead pressed to the cold wall. "I do this in your honor." And because I didn't want to become a wet stain.

Life was not a heroic song.

Then I heard soft laughter--low, rich, amused.

A hand grabbed the front of my tunic, and I was yanked through an open window like a sack of grain. I landed in a heap on a wooden floor, breathless and trembling.

Lilith stood above me, barefoot, wearing only a plain white tunic that hung off her like it belonged to someone else.

No soft curves. She was all sharp edges and hollow planes--beautiful the way a dagger is beautiful, every line of her lean body built for speed and violence.

She grinned--teeth bared, eyes catching the oil lamp light like a predator's. A devil from the sexiest part of hell.

"I was willing to put money on you not showing up," she said, nodding slightly. Her eyes gleamed with something new--something proprietary. "Still soft in the head, but harder to shake than a hangover."

I stood and bowed. Figured that was as close as Lilith ever got to complimenting anyone. "Thank you."

She placed a long finger to my lips, signaling me to shut my trap. Then she began circling me--slow, deliberate, like a shark sizing up its next meal. She whistled low as she inspected my blue silk and nodded. "Fuck, Lord Darian. You looked pretty even covered in dust, but now..." Her finger brushed my cheek, then traced down the bridge of my nose, painting lazy patterns over my lips. "I never thought a beauty like yours existed." She murmured it almost like a sin confessed. "You're a work of art. It's true what they say--that your mother's line carries the blood of the Fae Folk."

"Old milkmaid tales," I muttered.

She smiled crookedly. "Such beauty is dangerous."

"You don't treat me like I'm dangerous. You treat me like prey."

Her grin widened--sharp and white. "And that's why that little thing in your silk trousers looks so eager? Because you want it? You want me?"

"I fear you, Lilith."

She gave that shark smile again. "Everyone does."

"Athena doesn't."

That hit something. She hissed--sharp, low, a snake someone stepped on.

"You and Athena have a history?"

"Think to seduce me by asking about another girl?"

"I'm just curious."

"If you're so taken with her, why are you running off to sea with that aging maid of yours? Marian's just as pretty as her little sister--less chaos." She cocked her head slightly. "She'll have you on a leash inside a fortnight. And from where I'm standing, Bunny, you'll like it."

I gave a deep sigh.

Lilith wouldn't admit it, but my would-be in-law had a strong perch under her skin. And here I was--killing the mood I so desperately needed alive. "I do want you, Lilith."

"You're doing a terrible job."

"I'm sorry. Let's try again." I gave a shallow bow. "I am well tutored in the art of courting."

Lilith started laughing so hard she had to lean against the window sill. When she finally looked up, her face was flushed with genuine amusement. "Wait--you're serious? What does that even include?"

"Well, I can play the lute," I said.

"Any good?"

I shook my head. "I can write you a love poem," I added hopefully.

She folded her arms, tilting her head, smiling with a wicked glint. Half smirk, half hunger. "Go ahead, Bunny."

I gave it my best effort.

"Oh Lilith, tall and cruel and lean,

You've got sharper teeth than any queen,

You've got a cock that could shame a knight,

And gods, I'd still drop to my knees tonight."

"Velhara's tits," she snorted. "You're terrible."

"Terribly good?"

"You're so clueless it's painful."

"Cirelle said I'm an amazing kisser," I lied, exaggerating the truth a bit--and by a bit, I mean a lot. She had only let me kiss her mouth a handful of times, and she never once commented on the technique. The "amazing" part lived purely inside my head, during long nights when I lay awake remembering the intoxicating taste of her generous lips.

If I thought that would entice some action, I was disappointed.

Lilith just stood there, leaning against the window sill, staring at me with those cold, slanted blue eyes, a thin smile twitching at her thin lips. "Well?"

I charged forward--a fleche, the reckless kind of sword attack meant to overwhelm. My lips landed clumsily on her chin, then her neck, then her mouth. She didn't resist, exactly--she just stood there, letting me paw at her like some eager fool trying to force her mouth open with my tongue. Eager like a mutt humping a chair leg.

"Stop," she said finally, and shoved me back.

I tried some more and her fingers pinched my nipple so hard I yelped.

I stepped back. "What?"

"Have you ever been with a woman?"

"Never with a futanari," I said quickly. "But I've been with lots of girls." In my dreams, anyway. Both asleep and awake, I'd had every serving girl in our household--at least in my imagination. There was one cook, in particular, with breasts like two northern snowcaps, who had taken up permanent residence in my fantasies, usually naked on her back, legs spread wide. "I slept with dozens of women."

"You're even terrible at lying, Bunny."

"I've never been with a woman, okay?" I'd had it with this maddening, tall, beautiful girl. "I still want a passage for me and Cirelle to Velvaren."

"A virgin, color me not surprised."

"This is me. This is as good as it gets, Lilith. You know what? The deal is off the table. Step away from the window--I'll see myself out."

"A clueless, childish virgin," she drawled, grinning, "and now you throw a tantrum like a five-year-old. Gods, I'm so wet I'm dripping."

"Fuck you!"

Since she was blocking the window, I tried pushing her aside.

Bad idea.

Suddenly she was on me, slamming me back against the wall like it cost her nothing. "You're not going anywhere, Bunny," she murmured, her voice low and terrifyingly sweet. "Not until I say you can. And the deal's only off if I say it is."

"I'm..." My breath hitched. I closed my eyes. I leaned in, tried to kiss her again--but she pushed me gently back against the wall.

"You're in too much of a hurry," she murmured. "I love the anticipation. But I like to take my time."

I nodded again, mute, drunk on the tension.

"Open your eyes," she said, her voice soft as a kiss. "Lift up your arms, Bunny."

I didn't even have the energy left to defy her. I was all want, nothing but want. I sucked on my lower lip and slowly raised my hands above my head.

She placed the flat of her hand on my exposed belly and hummed in admiration. "You have the finest, most graceful body, Lord Darian. I was in my room getting hard just thinking about it." Her hand eased upward, slipping under the hem of my silk, raising it slowly along my outstretched arms.

Slow. Deliberate.

The fabric whispered as it slid over my skin, until my blond hair spilled free like a halo around my face.

She ran her fingers slowly through it, savoring it. "You're silk," she murmured. "All of you."

She tossed the shirt aside.

The chill kissed my bare chest; I felt my nipples tighten under the pale light.

"Hmm," she hummed, tracing one long finger down my ribs, then up along the underside of a breast to flick lightly across one nipple. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined," she said. "Your pants now."

"Okay," I said quietly.

My eyes darted briefly to the window--but I obeyed. I thumbed inside the waistband of my silk pants, pushed them down just enough. They puddled around my ankles inside-out. I stepped free of them, one leg, then the other, sweeping them aside with my foot.

"Wow," Lilith exhaled, almost reverently. Her cold blue eyes roamed over me with serious admiration. She stepped back a pace, as if needing distance just to drink in the full sight.

She let me stand there a long moment, naked and trembling, while she watched me like a cat might watch a trapped bird.

Then she smiled--small, wicked.

"Your turn, Bunny," she said. "Take it off."

I swallowed. Hard. It took a second to realize she meant her tunic.

"And don't rush it," she added, tilting her head. "You're not a bunny tonight. You're a tortoise. Slow."

I nodded, my mouth too dry for words.

I stepped closer. The oil lamp's soft glow threw golden highlights across her skin--the hard, sharp beauty of her. A blade in the shape of a woman.

I lifted my hands, hesitating a breath away from touching her. Waiting for her to stop me, to laugh, to shove me away.

She didn't.

Carefully, carefully, I brushed my fingers under the hem of her tunic. The fabric was coarse linen, rough under my fingertips.

I moved slowly, as ordered, gathering the tunic up inch by inch. First past her hips, revealing hard muscle. Then higher, over the lean ridges of her stomach, the faint traces of old scars.

She didn't move. Didn't help.

Only watched me, cold blue eyes that pierce through you, silent and intense, letting me work for it. I slid the tunic up over her ribs, her sides, the sharp grace of her frame. I swallowed again when the underside of small, pointed breasts came into view, delicate and defiant. I dragged the tunic higher, baring her completely.

"Arms up," I whispered.

She obeyed lazily, amused.

I pulled the tunic over her head, careful not to tangle her hair.

When the fabric finally came free, she shook her head once, letting her pale, messy hair fall back into place.

She stood there--naked now--sharp and lean.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to move.

Her body was a map of old violence and darkness.

Pale scars stitched across her ribs like broken strings. A jagged, angry gash carved just beneath her left breast, puckered and ugly, the kind of wound that should have killed her.

Black ink coiled over her right arm, the thick serpent swallowing its tail. A dagger plunged into a black sun branded her shoulder. Thin, spectral wings, almost too faint to see, stretched ghost-like across her back. At her throat, a chain of black skulls circled like a collar--fine and cruel.

And between her legs. A brutal contradiction.

Thick and heavy her cock stood from the lean lines of her body, twice the size of mine, probably more. It was raw and masculine against the sharp grace of her. There was nothing delicate or soft about it--nothing feminine, no mercy. It was frightening, real, and cruel, like the rest of her.

In the north, the Red Priests of Elar and Nyssia hunted her kind for hundreds of years, until they were abolished and hunted down themselves. But futanari are still rare once you go north of the Heaven Ridge. I had met handful in all my years growing up in my father's court--and never seen one naked.

I stared.

I stared at the scars.

I stared at the tattoos.

And I stared at her cock for I don't know how long. I had no clue what my face looked like, but I was sure it wasn't anything pleasant.

Her mouth twisted into a crooked grin, but her body had gone still--too still. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Casual--but not casual at all.

"You want to call it off?" she said, not apologetic, not even insulted. I think she was used to that look on men's faces. I'd seen all sorts of flavors of Lilith today: calculation, cruelty, lust, indifference--and not bravery, but the fearlessness of someone who's certain they'll always come out on top.

But this--this was pride, straight and simple. And so, so human.

"You want to call it off?" she asked again.

My mouth went dry. "Off?"

"Now you've seen the goods? You can go back the way you came. Your call."

"I..."

"Well?"

"Can I touch you, Lilith?"

"What?" I think she expected anything but that. No--by the look on her face, I was certain she did. She expected me to bail. Maybe to argue and redraw the lines of the deal. Maybe she hoped I'd just say yes and stomach the bitter wine. She never expected this.

"Can I touch you?"

I'm a terrible swordsman. I was born thin and lithe in a land that admired people built like oxen. Everyone, including myself, knew I was a failure. But there's one thing I learned over the years, living on the sidelines and watching: I understood people. Better than most. Maybe my mother's side really did run with Fae blood. But I could always see through the words they said--truth or lies--the games they played. And even more important, through the words they didn't say. And I knew with the cold, stubborn surety of winter itself that no woman, futanari or not, wants a man to stare at her with judgment.

"Can I touch you, Lilith?" I put every ounce of lust I had in me into those words. And there was plenty.

For a moment, she just stared at me--and something flickered, fast and raw, across her face. Not anger. Not mockery. Something dangerously close to fear.

I didn't wait for her answer. I stepped closer, close enough to breathe her in. She smelled like steel and something else beneath, something human. I lifted my hand--slow, open-palmed--and brushed the side of her hip. Her skin twitched under my fingers.

Cirelle, as my etiquette teacher, had taught me the theory of touching a lady: "Begin at the hand, my lord." "Do not presume to touch the waist too soon." "Mind her blushes; modesty is a sign of virtue."

Fuck all that.

Lilith wasn't modest. She wasn't safe. She wasn't even particularly sane. She was beautiful, and wild, and trembling under my touch.

I made her tremble. Me. Little me did it to the terrible Lilith.

I stopped thinking. I stopped listening to the panic screaming in my skull. I let the shift of her breath guide me. I listened to the faint hitch when my thumb pressed and trailed along the scar from her breast to her navel. Human bodies talk to me in many languages--and clueless, virgin me spoke them all.

Because I made her shudder.

My heart pounded, but I didn't hesitate. I touched her cock, my pointing finger tracing gently, nail and tip gliding from the bulbous head to the ridge, down in a straight line to where it met her body.

She moaned--a guttural sound of delight.

I closed my fist around it, my delicate fingers, untrained by my father's sword, nimble and strong. I stroked it as I'd done countless of times to myself, slow, slower, a tortoise as she'd commanded. My palm gripped its girth, feeling it swell in my hand. My eyes never left her face.

Her face was a battlefield, every breath a skirmish she refused to lose. Those slanted blue eyes, so cold and cruel, narrowed to slits--not in rage, but in fierce concentration. A slight flare of her nostrils, a tremor at the corner of her mouth. Her chin lifted half an inch, defiant, as if to outrun what her body betrayed.

I caressed her balls, smooth, hairless, heavy.

I stroked upward along the massive girth and paused, my thumb gliding over the slit, feeling it weep, slicking my skin with her fluid.

She grunted--a hard yes. I did it again.

I pinched the tip between thumb and finger, pressing timidly, then harder.

She bit her lip.

My finger danced along the ridge of the glans, teasing the sensitive skin.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

My other hand joined, gently pulling the giant head back, stretching the dome's slit wide. I felt it with my finger, the opening like a small canyon, its walls yielding. I caressed inside, dipping my finger, rubbing.

A series of grunts, then a smile--a wide, unguarded smile, nothing of cruelty, and, dare I say, joy.

I dipped my finger into the open slit, drawing it out wet with a thick white drop of her seed. I raised it to eye level and sniffed. Sharp, unlike my own.

She stared at me, squinting, waiting, a bit surprised.

"What?"

I shrugged. "I'm just curious. I've never done it before with a cock that wasn't mine."

"Same thing," she said.

"Not even a little bit true."

She laughed. "You're gonna stare at it all night? It's just futanari sauce."

"Futanari sauce?"

"Crown jewels cocktail, future failure, baby batter, cum. Just--" Her eyes went wide because I dipped my finger into my mouth--slow, deliberate--and pulled it out in one long motion until there was a soft pop, my finger coming out glistening clean.

For a heartbeat, she just stared at me--like she couldn't decide whether to laugh, punch me, or drag me to the floor.

Then she moved.

One second, there was space between us. The next, she lunged--grabbing my face in both hands and crashing her mouth onto mine.

Not gentle or careful. Teeth and tongue and hunger, tasting me, tasting herself on my lips. She devoured me, because I dared to tease the girl who was hardness personified. Her body pinned me back against the wall, hard enough to rattle the breath from my chest. She kissed like she fought--relentless and merciless. I drowned for a second. Skin and heat and tongue. Her mouth claimed mine, forced it open, and drank me down till I was slipping into the abyss.

She kissed me until my knees gave out.

And even then, she didn't let me fall.

When she finally tore her mouth from mine, I staggered, breathing like I'd nearly drowned.

"Aha," I gasped.

"What," she said, dangerous and amused, "is that stupid 'aha' supposed to mean?"

"So this is how it's done," I said solemnly. "Master Orvain's Twelve Gentle Lessons for the Cultivation of Proper Courtship," I added in my best pompous tutor voice, "instructs that one must engage with gentle pressure, no more force than would disturb a leaf resting upon water."

"Master Orvain died a virgin." Lilith blinked--then barked a laugh so loud I was afraid the guard would hear. "Maybe stop learning from dusty old books, Bunny," she said. "Start learning from life."

Then she shoved me hard toward the bed, still laughing like she couldn't help herself.

We tumbled, limbs flying.

She was on top of me, kissing, nipping, tasting--then just holding my head in her palms, panting, staring into my eyes.

Her hard body was all over me, her hard member pressed against my thigh. "You're so beautiful, Darian!" she breathed, licking my nose, playing. "I think I'm gonna steal you and run away with you over the sea."

It was just bed talk, but it made me hard. I grabbed the smooth globes of her buttocks and squeezed.

"Harder," she huffed.

We kissed. I had no idea for how long. Tenderly.

Not like people transacting in lust, but like lovers who hadn't seen each other for years.

I imitated everything she did.

I listened. I learned.

I was getting bolder.

My lips touched her nipples, and my tongue circled one slowly.

"That's good," she murmured, her hand caressing my hair. "Don't neglect the other."

I kissed the partner in crime, passionately, listening to her body--realizing it was too much, too soon. So I kissed my way down to her stomach instead, enjoying the sound of her low, unexpected giggles.

When I started nibbling at her navel, she squealed--a real, startled sound, like I'd found some secret place even she didn't expect to give away.

Then I kissed the head of her cock. I intended to give it a gentle peck, softly pressing my warm lips against the smooth dome. But as I lingered, I was captivated by its inviting warmth, drawing me to stay.

She grunted and raised her head, a question mark written all over her face. "Are you sure?"

"I want to learn everything from you."

"You really want to put that pretty mouth on me?"

I nodded fast.

"You don't have to do that," she said, her voice softer than I'd ever heard it. One finger traced the edge of my lips--gentle, almost reverent. "You've held up your part of the deal. I'm not the kind who takes more than what's given."

"I've never wanted anything the way I want you now, Lilith."

My hands went south, one cupped her balls, the other circled the base of her shaft and pointed it straight at the ceiling. Then I did the dirty thing.

My eyes closed, my pouted lips pressed against the tip of her cock, feeling its heat and surprisingly supple shape.

She jerked once, sharp and involuntary, as if I'd struck a nerve she hadn't known was there.

My tongue slid under her shaft, bathing its length with slow, blunt strokes, then explored freely.

I circled it in a spiral, climbing upward. Her thighs tensed beneath me. Oh, yes, a good sign. So I spiraled down, delighting in every hitch of her breath, every faint moan.

I pressed my tongue's tip against her slit, wiggling it like a serpent burrowing beneath her skin. At first, nothing--then I pressed harder, and her hips thrust as she let out a sharp cry.

"Too much?" I asked, voice muffled.

"No, no," she huffed, "do it again. Harder!"

I did, my heart thrilling at her command. To hell with you, Master Orvain, and your "no more force than would stir a leaf on water." Have you ever met a real woman?

She laughed--sharp, breathless, half a gasp, as if she couldn't believe the pleasure.

My lips parted with a quiet, wet smack. I lowered my head, letting her swollen glans slide slowly, agonizingly, into my mouth. It was thick, bulbous, filling my mouth, its smooth crown pressing against my palate.

She arched into me without thought, her body speaking before her voice. "Look at me, Darian," she panted, breathing hard.

"Hmm?" I mumbled, mouth full.

"Look at me. I want those beautiful eyes on mine."

I raised my head from between her legs, her cock still between my lips, and met her gaze, grinning. "Hmm?"

She nodded sharply, a glint of approval in her eyes.

"Mm," I moaned, my angst, worry, and excitement twisting my gut into knots. I exhaled hard through my nose, pushing away all thoughts to ride this wild beast to its end. My head rocked, my mouth worked in circles, my tongue darted over the underside of her glans.

Her teeth caught her lower lip, sharp and unconscious, as if trapping the sounds within.

You like this, don't you, fearsome lady? She made innkeepers flee with a single glance, yet here she was, under my spell, vulnerable and wanting.

"Bite it," she said.

"Hmm?"

"A little nibble with your teeth--not too hard, mind. I'll want my lance whole come sunrise."

I obeyed, my teeth sinking gently into her flesh, flexing it. Softer? No--harder. I gave tiny bites along her length, then munched her glans like honeyed fruit, licking, then nipping, always watching her face for cues.

A slow, wicked smile ghosted across her lips, even as her eyes fluttered shut. I drew her deeper, nibbling more.

Her lashes trembled, fighting not to close, fighting not to yield.

I sucked with fervor, feeling my tightness ease, sensing Lilith's pleasure. Her fingers tangled hard in my hair--not pulling, just anchoring, as if she feared drifting away. She leaned back, watching me work her cock.

This was wrong, yet I'd never felt so alive. I was betraying my vows, my love for Cirelle, pretending it was for her sake. My heart twisted, but I plunged on, her thick head sliding in and out of my mouth. My hands joined--one cradling her balls, squeezing gently, thumb rolling over them; the other stroking her mid-shaft, meeting my lips.

Her other hand rose, and I clasped hers, like a maiden at prayer. Her thumbs pressed my cheeks, holding my gaze. I lost myself a moment in her slanted blue eyes, her long lashes, her face that was so fiercely feminine.

She said, "Gods, Darian, I wanted to fuck you the moment I set eyes on you--when you ran over to save your little damsel. In the middle of a fucking fight, all I could think about was how good it would feel to have you under me."

I doubled my efforts, her raw confession stirring a thrill that was wrong yet felt so good.

My jaw throbbed, a dull ache I ignored. She pressed forward, hips driving with fierce need, sending that heated flesh deeper into my throat. My lips and tongue worked her with desperate need.

I tasted her now. Her flesh was salty and slick, my mouth watering as I pleasured her. A cruel tinge lingered--pure Lilith, bitter yet heady, like the sharp wine from my father's vineyards. The more I tasted, the more I craved her.

Her hands flattened against my shoulders--then curled, clenching, losing their strength as her breathing hitched. "Fuck, I'm so close." She stopped watching me, her eyes closed and she was panting.

So I pulled up entirely.

"Where in damnation did you go?" she panted, opening her eyes, confused.

"You said a tortoise," I said. "I have a cock. I can tell when the flood's about to come."

"What?" she gasped.

"Your river's about to overflow," I said, grinning. I wanna try making you last. When I play with myself, I can hold it for almost an hour. Surely puny little me can't outlast the scary Lilith."

Her hands were on me before I could blink. Strong, iron cords, like they could snap my bones. She grabbed my shoulders, yanked me up like I was a rag doll, and flipped me mid-air. I yelped, world spinning. Landed hard on the bed, upside down, my head on her thighs, legs flailing in the air.

Her laugh--low, wicked--cut through my dizziness. "You're cute, Bunny. Not even dripping your first and already thinking you're a stallion." she growled, looming over me. Her cock, thick and heavy, swayed inches from my face. "Let's see who breaks first."

I barely caught my breath before she moved. She folded forward, her long legs spread. My cock, hard and a bloody traitor, bobbed up toward her. She smirked, leaned down, and took it in her mouth. Hot, wet, no mercy. Her tongue swirled, rough and sure, sucking me like she meant to drain my essence.

I gasped, my whole body jerking. "Fuck, Lilith!"

She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me, making my toes curl.

Long ago, I learned to fear competition. Father always paired me against Thomas, against his knights--whether it was swordplay, archery, horseback riding, firearms, or hunting. I was so used to coming last that I stopped trying.

But this--This was different.

A new world. A new battlefield. And for the first time, the one skill I'd always had--the way I could read people--was a mighty weapon. I made her moan. I made her squirm.

I made her say words she didn't mean to say.

Damn if I was going to let her win.

I grabbed her thighs, pulled myself, my mouth finding her cock. I sucked hard, lips stretching, tongue working hard. My neck ached, my shoulders screamed, hanging upside down like this, but I didn't care.

This was war.

She groaned, her mouth tightening on me, sucking deeper. A challenge.

I matched her, bobbing my head, taking her cock as far as I could, my throat burning. Her balls were in my hands, heavy, rolling under my fingers. I squeezed, teased, felt her hips twitch.

She liked that. Good.

Her tongue flicked my tip, fast, relentless, like she knew every weak spot I had. My cock throbbed, heat pooling low, too close. No, no, not yet. I bit her shaft, gentle, then harder, nibbling like she'd taught me. She growled, her mouth faltering on me for a second.

Point for Darian.

"You little amazing bunny," she panted, voice hoarse, but she didn't stop. Her lips slid down my length, slow, torturing, her hands gripping my hips to keep me still.

I'll show her bunny.

Mouth full, grinning like an idiot, I swirled my tongue around her glans, fast, then slow, mimicking her. Two could play dirty.

The bed creaked under us, her sitting tall, me upside down, my world reduced to her cock, her mouth, the race to break each other.

My jaw ached, my lungs burned, blood rushing to my head. Her scent--salty, bitter, all Lilith--filled me, drove me mad. I sucked harder, faster, my hands stroking her shaft where my mouth couldn't reach. She moaned, loud, unguarded, her thighs trembling under my grip.

She fought back, her tongue a weapon, circling my cock's head, sucking so deep I saw stars. My body screamed to let go, but I held on. Fuck it. I wanted this. Wanted to feel her crumble. I plunged her cock deeper, gagging, tears pricking my eyes, but I didn't stop.

Her breath hitched, a sharp, desperate sound. Her cock pulsed in my mouth, hot, swelling. I sucked like my life depended on it, my hands squeezing her balls, urging her over the edge.

She broke first. Her cock erupted, a hot, thick surge flooding my mouth. Copious, endless, more than I could handle. It spilled past my lips, choked me, leaked out my nose, bitter and sharp. I coughed, gagged, but I didn't let go, swallowing what I could, my throat working, my pride refusing to quit. Her body shook, her mouth slipping off my cock as she gasped, a raw, animal sound.

I won.

My body let go, the heat in me exploding. I came hard, my cock pulsing in the air, untouched, spilling across her chest, the bed, everywhere. My vision blurred, my head spun, upside down and drowning in her sperm.

She collapsed, sliding down beside me, her laugh wild, unhinged. "Gods, Bunny, where in Velhara's cock...? Are you sure this is your first time?" she wheezed, chest heaving, her cock still twitching, slick with my spit and her cum.

I rolled over, gasping, trying to breathe, my face a mess, her seed dripping from my nose, my chin. I coughed, wiped my mouth, my lungs screaming. "Who's the fucking bunny now?" I panted, my voice raw.

She laughed again--loud, reckless--her hand smacking my thigh. "You are."

I lay there, spent, my heart pounding, guilt and triumph twisting sharp in my gut. Cirelle's face flashed through my mind--disappointed, like when she found out I was too lazy to practice the lute, despite all my promises.

But Lilith's laugh, her heat, her madness--they burned brighter.

I was fucked.

And I'd never felt more alive

======

The bed stank of sweat and sex.

The sheets were tangled, damp, kicked halfway to the floor. I lay on top of her, boneless, breathing her in.

Her chest rose and fell beneath me, slow and steady now, her skin slick with the fading heat of us. My head rested between her small, perky breasts, feeling the thud of her heartbeat against my cheek.

She ran her fingers through my hair--slow, like a lover petting something she wasn't ready to let go of yet.

I closed my eyes and just let her touch me.

No games. No taunts. Just skin against skin, breath against breath.

That's when I noticed it.

Below the angry scars and the harsh black tattoos, just above her left hipbone, close to her heart, was something different.

Smaller. Finer.

A silver-threaded tattoo, delicate: two ghostly hands cradling a star.

I lifted my head, still half-dazed, and traced it lightly with my fingertip. "What's this one?" I asked, my voice rough.

She stiffened instantly. The lazy stroking of my hair stopped dead. "Just another tattoo," she said--too fast.

I frowned, brushing my thumb gently over it again. "It's not like the others," I said. "It's not cruel. It's... different. It looks personal."

"It's my star."

"What do you mean?"

Her hand jerked away from me. She shifted under me, muscles coiling tight, ready to throw me off if I pushed.

I knew immediately that I was right. This was personal.

It's like I told Athena: people like to wear masks.

And I was always curious about what lay underneath--not because my father taught me to seek leverage, but because I was born that way.

Because every time I looked, I found the same thing underneath:

everyone was fighting their own battle.

And it made me feel less alone. Because Lilith, for all her cruelty and armor, was human too.

So I didn't push.

I just rested my head back against her chest, listening to her heart pound against my ear, and let my hand settle low over her ribs--silent.

To be continued...