Game of Thornes Ch. 03

They say Duke Alaric Thorne rode into the mists of Graywatch five years ago, and turned to smoke.

No body. No witnesses. No farewell.

None of his entourage returned. Either they shared his fate, or saw where things were heading and chose to stay missing.

The rumors were endless:

His boat sank.

He hanged himself.

The Fae Folk turned him into a seagull, for shits and giggles.

Or he's hiding in the mountains, dressed as a monk, living on snails and philosophy, which, frankly, sounds like an improvement over life with the bitch he married.

His wife, Isolde, wept crocodile tears and vowed to leave no stone unturned until her dear husband returned to nestle once more in her ample bosom.

And then there was the Life Tree.

Some half-mythical shrub supposedly tethered to the Duke's soul. As long as it kept blooming, the story went, so did he.

And in that tidy little limbo, Thornmarch remained, conveniently, under Isolde's rule.

Meanwhile Marian, the Duke's firstborn and only legitimate heir, fumed in silence and dreamed of regicide.

Into that crucible walked me.

Wrapped in silk, offered like a peace dove.

My name is Lord Darian Valemont.

Second son.

No political, battle, or social skills whatsoever.

And Thornmarch was about to explode.

======

I woke up to unfamiliar warmth. I wasn't used to sleeping naked, and certainly not used to having a naked body entangled with mine.

Athena.

Soft and hard. Rusty locks on the pillow. She had a beautiful face, even in sleep, with her piercing green eyes closed. Her straight little nose twitched again, like a rabbit scenting danger. Her full, oh-so-kissable lips were pressed tight.

I bet she was hunting Dark Asps in her sleep too.

I gave them a light peck and saw them suddenly stretch into a smile.

People who didn't know her called her names like Dice Maiden, Red Siren, Queen of Pricks and Poker. She did use foul language, and there were rumors about drinking and gambling. But I was beginning to suspect this was just a show, a mask.

Because the tough people who were close to her showed her nothing but utter devotion and respect. People were drawn to her, and I was beginning to see why.

I was drawn to her.

I pulled the blanket, raising it to reveal her body. She had broad shoulders, and stringy muscles. Full, round, white breasts. I kissed one nipple. Then

the other, fair's fair. They were the most feminine part of the Athena experience.

Above me, she opened a single eye and took a long breath, as if sniffing for danger like a wolf.

I kissed my way down her hard abs.

"Morning," she said in a rough voice. "We stopped moving."

I knew what that meant.

Thornmarch.

We had arrived at our destination.

She blinked awake, one eye first, blinking like an owl. Saw me. Didn't move or smile. Just stared a second too long.

"Yeah, I'm real," I said. "You didn't dream me."

"It's fucking too early for your... whatever that weird thing is that you are, Lord Oddball." Her eyes squinted, calculating.

"What's wrong?"

She turned her head and stared at the ceiling. "Who said anything's wrong?"

"You've got that 'what the fuck did I do?' look in your eyes."

"You read minds now, Darian?"

"Am I wrong?"

"You're here to marry my sister."

Ahh... Sweet guilt.

The more I saw into Athena and Marian's relationship, the less I understood it. She didn't want her sister on the throne but she still felt guilty for sleeping with her would-be betrothed.

I knew what it was like, hating your sibling, growing up with Thomas. He was a bully. This wasn't the same, I think. I certainly couldn't imagine anyone daring to bully Athena.

Maybe I was overthinking it.

"I'm not married to your sister. Yet. It might not even happen. Isolde could block it. She could insist on her biological daughter." I didn't add that I might just make a runner before anyone wed me.

"Oh, you will marry Marian, darling. You're everything she wants."

"She hasn't even seen me yet. Maybe I'm not her taste."

Athena snorted. "Oh please."

In the north, they call me 'The Northern Rose' sometimes 'The Lily' behind my father's back. It's not a compliment.

It means I'm soft. Fragile. Pretty, in a way no girl wants in her bed or her bloodline. The kind of boy they joke about, then walk past at a feast without sparing a glance. But here in the south? Turns out I'm every futanari's favorite candy. A guilty craving they don't even try to hide.

It was a power rush, especially for someone as unwanted as me.

Like stepping into a world where the rules had flipped. I drank it in.

"Not that she'd mind you coming in such a good-looking package," Athena yawned into her fist, like this whole thing bored her. "But she wouldn't care even if you were a ninety-year-old hunchback with more warts than a marsh hog. You come with a title and a guaranteed three votes on the Seven Ducal Council. Marian wants the throne. You're her key."

I kissed under her chin and along her long neck. She made a satisfied sound.

"So why do you feel guilty about this?" I asked.

"Who said I am?"

She was. But I wasn't going to push. Too many troubles already resting on my slim shoulders.

Outside waited Isolde. Marian, the fiancée I never asked for. The Empire envoy I'd kicked in her imperial nuts. My father's wrath. My feelings for Cirelle, which I still didn't want to tackle after her betrayal. Lilith's promise to sneak me to Port Griffin and over the sea.

Too much.

So I decided to 'fuck it'. To steal a single moment of bliss for myself before facing the pile of shit awaiting for me outside. I had the perfect accomplice.

I was new to this world of skin, bodily fluids, lips, and moans, but I was an excellent painter.

From The Artisan's Hand by Master Juvanos: A Treatise on the Painter's Discipline and Method, Chapter IV: "Of the Brush and the Stroke"

The Posture: Sit straight, with elbow loose and wrist light. Never clutch the brush; cradle it. If your hand aches, you are forcing the art.

I slid backward between Athena's legs, my lower body escaping the blanket, my bare backside exposed to the cool air.

With elbow loose and wrist light, I took hold of her member. It was soft yet beginning to firm, warm against my palm, and impossibly smooth. The artist in me appreciated the perfection of form, the subtle curve, the way it responded to my touch like a living canvas. My fingers gently closed around it, giving it a loving squeeze from base to tip. Slow. No rush.

"Darian?" Athena's voice broke the quiet.

There are three principal strokes:

The Line is drawn with the tip alone, scarcely kissing the surface. Use it for contours, edges, and the suggestion of movement. It must be swift and sure, like the flick of a hawk's wing.

With just the tip of my tongue, scarcely kissing the surface, I traced her contours. The glans was smooth and slightly larger than the shaft, red against her pale skin, like a northern rose blooming in snow. I swirled my tongue around the corona, feeling the ridge beneath my tongue, savoring the subtle texture.

Athena's breath hitched above me. The sound sent a thrill through my body, a painter discovering the perfect shade.

I applied more pressure with my tongue, drawing a slow, wet line from the base to tip. Her skin was velvet-soft yet firm beneath, warming under my attention. Her shaft, no longer soft, hardened with every lick, curving upward like a bow drawn taut. The glans swelled, and a drop of white precum appeared at the slit, glistening.

I licked it enthusiastically. The taste was salty and strong.

"Darian?" she said again.

I didn't answer. I pressed a loving kiss to the head, then to her inner thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips. Her skin was warm, slightly salty from the night's exertions.

The Glaze is laid with the side of the brush, soft and thin, layering color like mist over morning hills. Drag it slowly. Patience is your virtue here.

I was thorough. Still holding her shaft with one hand, not too tight, just firm enough to keep it steady, I lifted her balls with my other hand, gently. They were large, full, covered with rusty red hairs that matched those on her head. The weight of them in my palm was strangely satisfying. Below them was her slit, shy and closed, different. I knew futanari had both, but this was my first time seeing those pink lips up close.

I gave them a tender kiss and heard Athena's approving murmur rumble through her body. Her thighs tensed again, then relaxed, spreading slightly wider.

I dragged my tongue slowly from her taint, over her balls, up her shaft to the glans, then to the slit at the top. The journey was long and deliberate, my tongue leaving a wet trail that cooled in the morning air. I went down again, all the way to the bottom, coating her with my wetness and eagerness. Slowly, back up to the balls and slit, then up again.

Athena's hand found my head, her strong fingers lazily playing with my hair.

"Hey, Darian," she said.

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"You stopped me just to say 'go on'? Brilliant. Do you always interrupt people to tell them to keep going?"

She pinched my ear and growled, then couldn't help but laugh.

The Press is a deliberate weight of the bristles against the canvas. Use it to flood the surface with emotion. Press and lift, press and lift, never grind. Grinding bruises both paint and soul.

To hell with Master Juvanos. I wanted her in my mouth. All of her.

I licked my lips, wetting them as an invitation. My lips parted as I drew in a deep breath, tasting the salt-musk scent of her arousal.

Athena was one step ahead. She traced my lips with the soft, pinkish head, rubbing her precum across them. I followed with my tongue, drinking in her salty flavor. I exhaled, the warm air beckoning her inside.

"Fuck, you're precious," she said. She slid her cock between my lips, and I felt the smooth, velvety head press against my tongue. The corona, that prominent ridge where shaft met glans, felt like a firm ring beneath my tongue, a delicious texture that my mouth wanted to explore. I opened for her, taking it as deep as I could. She didn't force herself deeper, as I'd half-expected. She let me set the pace, respecting my boundaries.

I moaned, the sound vibrating in my throat around her thickness. Athena answered with a gasp.

"Gods, your mouth," she whispered, fingers tightening in my hair.

I sucked the thick, delicious head like I was a baby and it was a breast. Both hands stroked her shaft, my fingers memorizing. I bobbed slowly, partly to tease her, partly to adjust as I took her deeper. My lips stretched around her, my mouth so full that my jaw began to ache pleasantly, and I doubted I had even third of her. The head pressed against the roof of my mouth. The corona dragged against my tongue with each withdrawal. The texture was incredible, smooth but ridged, soft yet unyielding. The most incredible part about it was hearing her reactions. Music. I could listen all day.

Athena moaned her approval, staring down at me with... lust? Possessiveness?

Maybe it had something to do with her sister marrying me.

Her look made me relax, letting me take her deeper. "Mmm, so good, Darian. Honey. That tongue is so nice," she moaned.

Her balls were massive compared to mine. I could barely hold them in one hand as I tried to massage them while stroking her shaft. She was hung like a bull. I got the wild urge to suck on those heavy orbs, but Athena wouldn't let her cock leave my mouth. The head pressed against the back of my throat.

I kept sucking, cheeks hollowed, holding her in. I sucked until I ran out of breath and eased her out just enough to breathe. Saliva dripped from my lips as she pulled back.

What a glorious mess!

Athena pushed in again, and I sucked hard. I moaned through her cock, hoping my eager slurping was sending a message. Telling her I much I enjoyed her.

She played with my hair, fully in control. I was too eager to please to care. I just kept sucking and slurping. She started thrusting, making it harder to catch a breath, but I stayed calm and let her have my mouth. She cooed words of encouragement. The more I sucked, the harder she fucked my throat. I grew lightheaded.

"You suck cock so good," she said. Strange as it sounded, it was music to the soul.

"Fuck, here it comes. Here it comes." She grunted, holding the head at the back of my throat. Her thick seed pulsed down it. I sucked and swallowed like it was life's nectar. There was so much! The overflow bubbled into my mouth and dripped from my lips. She slowly pulled out, and I kept sucking, eager for every last drop.

"Best wake-up ever," she smiled.

"It was amazing. Can we do that again?"

"Like, tomorrow morning?"

"Like right now. Pretend to go to sleep, close your eyes."

I took her into my mouth again.

"You're insane... ohhhh," she moaned.

======

Port Griffin, aka Port Shitbucket (as the locals lovingly call it), is the easternmost point in the Seven Duchies. A spit away from the Empire. Two weeks on the sea and you're in Velvaren.

The port's stuffed with gold and shit alike. The streets are filthy, and the hookers are filthier. They say everything's for sale here, including your dignity, and if you play your cards wrong, your liver.

Above it, on the hill, rise the formidable walls of Thornmarch. Like a middle finger pointed at the sky. It was here, six hundred years ago, that the first call to shed the Empire's shackles rang out like a war horn.

Seagulls screaming overhead. The reek of the river. Carts rattling past, merchants shouting, guards barking orders, and muddy roads churned to soup by a thousand hooves. Horses of every size and temper. It was like getting slapped in the face with a sun-ripened pile of dung that had been fermenting for a month.

The riverboat docked at the inner wharf, just beside the main gate. Gangplank down. Crates, barrels, and sacks hit the planks in a steady rhythm, hoisted by an army of dockhands who barely looked up.

Our caravan, nine wagons and three carriages, minus the two burned in the Dark Asps attack, was already set to go.

Thomas was trying hard to imitate my father's swagger as he barked orders at Russel, grinding water, as usual, because Thomas loved saying obvious, redundant things. Russel was trying just as hard to pretend he was listening.

I feared Thomas, but most of the men treated him like an overgrown baby. He knew people didn't take him seriously, and a lot of that frustration got funneled my way.

The circle of shit.

I flinched when I registered Corina Talvek walking beside my father. She was her usual, elegantly dressed in a shimmering silk blouse that caught the light, paired with polished riding boots. Confidence and power wrapped in silk and leather.

The two of them cut through the hustle and muck like they didn't notice it, or worse, like it parted for them. She strolled like she owned the dock, not a speck of mud daring to cling to her polished boots. My father, all broad shoulders and rigid posture, nodded as she spoke, his face unreadable. Crates thudded, dockhands shouted, oxen brayed, and the two of them glided through it all like they were out for a garden stroll.

Time to face the music.

She owed me at least a kick in the nuts. Metaphorical one. A real kick in the nuts from Corina would probably leave me with a vagina. But that would be the least of my problems, once Father heard what I did last night.

He usually wears that "Oh, you, the son I didn't order" look when he sees me, but to my surprise, he practically beamed.

"Darian, there you are," he didn't sound pissed, quite the opposite.

Corina gave me a short bow. I bowed deeply in return.

"Corina says you were on your best behavior last night."

What the actual...?

I bowed again. "I thank you deeply, my lady. It was an enlightening evening for me as well. I've learned a great deal."

Corina smiled faintly. "Oh, he was delightful. So attentive." She met my eyes, steady, calm, unreadable. But there was something there. A warning in silk gloves.

"Was he?" Father sounded almost proud.

Corina's tone didn't change. "Quite the gentleman, naturally. Not a single window broken. I'll cherish my time with him like a precious gift."

I coughed. Bowed again, and forced down the urge to start counting every time she said naturally. Milady is too generous and gracious."

She smiled wider, just a hair too wide. "I'm sure I'll find, one day, the right time and place to repay that gift."

My stomach tightened. Debt acknowledged. Conflict postponed, not avoided.

======

The ride through the city was fast, too fast for comfort, not fast enough to outrun the mood.

Our carriage rattled over cracked stones and through alleys that stank of piss and boiled cabbage. We were flanked by our bodyguards on their massive horses, and Athena's Talons riding in tight formation. The streets narrowed, widened, then narrowed again. Always climbing, toward the castle perched on the hilltop above the bay. The higher we went, the worse the looks got.

Graffiti scarred the walls:

"ISOLDE OUT."

"LONG LIVE THE DARK ASPS." People were treating those thieves like heroes? Or was it something else?

Someone had drawn a crude cock over the face of a guard poster and slashed out the duchess's name. Another wall read:

"Mother Fang RISES. WE BITE BACK." (The mythical leader of the Dark Asps. If she even existed.)

A crowd had gathered around two people trying to strangle each other in the muck. Some were cheering. Most just watched, like people do when there's a good chance someone might bleed.

"Shit!" I shoved Thomas back.

He snarled, not used to me giving orders, then a brick flew through the carriage window and bounced off the wall a centimeter from my head.

"Fuck!"

Russel, on his massive Davok steed, pushed closer to shield us.

"Who threw that?" my father boomed.

Russel shook his head. "Dunno, sire. Little weasel. Slipped into an alley."

Boom.

Something else hit the side of the carriage, dry mud and something wetter that splattered across the wood. It looked and smelled like shit.

"Why are they throwing stuff at us?" Thomas hollered.

Russel shrugged and drew his pistol.

I signaled him to put it away. Not the brightest idea to start shooting people in Isolde's city.

Athena rode up, tall and straight in the saddle. "The mood's ugly today. Press forward. Follow us!"

I saw someone bend to grab another stone, then spot Athena and slowly lower their hand.

We followed her men, fast, leaving the angry crowd behind.

"What in Nyssia's name was that?" my father boomed. "What kind of city does the Duchess keep?"

It looked like, after years under Isolde's rule, the people had had enough. They saw our carriage, decided it looked like royalty, and pelted us with their appreciation. Whatever the real situation was in Port Griffin, one thing was clear: The Duchess didn't have it under control.

We rode fast, through a guarded gate into another district. The streets were cleaner. The houses looked deliberate, planned mansions with courtyards and symmetry. Same white stone as the outer districts, but none of the chaos.

Out there, the buildings were crammed on top of each other like fungus on a rotting log, stacked, improvised, choking the roads until some were too narrow for a carriage to squeeze through.

Another gate, and we reached Thornmarch Castle.

The castle was built from the same pale white stone as the rest of the city, Albusvigil, the old tongue called it. "The watchful White." It caught the sun like bone.

Seven hundred years old, and it looked it. The towers loomed narrow and tall, like swords driven into the hill. Not majestic, predatory. They watched the city below like they were waiting for it to flinch.

Massive, several times bigger than my father's castle. Intimidating.

Iron cages hung from the ramparts, each cradling a prisoner left to the sun and the wind. Skin blistered. Eyes swollen shut. Limbs dangling like forgotten meat. The kind of punishment banned long ago in the Seven Duchies.

Apparently, it made a comeback under Isolde. Nothing says "welcome home" like the smell of slow-cooked dissidents.

This wasn't justice. It was a message.

A guard on the wall raised something and fired it into the air, a projectile that climbed into the sky and left behind a plume of crimson smoke. Then another followed, this one blue. Red and blue. The colors of our house.

A horn blew, cheerful, somehow. We were expected.

The courtyard burst into motion the moment our carriage wheels scraped to a halt. Grooms and stablehands surged forward in a swarm, reins were seized, trunks hoisted. Cheers and greetings rang out. Hooves clattered against the stones.

One groom fumbled with a saddle strap and was cuffed by a sharper-eyed superior. Another tried to pry a trunk from a Talon's mount and nearly lost a finger.

Statues of the Thorned Griffin flanked the courtyard, fangs bared, wings half-furled, tail raised like whips. The stonemasons always carved the faces slightly different, depending on who held the seat. This one? Looked like it wanted to speak before it bit.

Nine hundred riders waited in the courtyard, armor gleaming, horses stamped and snorted in formation so tight it looked like one enormous creature made of steel and muscle. Spears lined the outer edges like teeth. Every man wore the Thorne colors, silver and green. Every gaze was forward.

At their head sat Lilith, helmet tucked under one arm, one gloved hand resting lightly on her saddle pommel. She wasn't in her usual traveling attire, black velvet, elegant and sharp.

She didn't smile. Didn't offer so much as a glance to suggest we'd shared a bed just a few nights ago.

Those catlike blue eyes scanned the horizon, calm and distant. Like a blade against a neck, silent, cold, and waiting.

Then came the women.

A small army of ladies-in-waiting drifted forward, their gowns and sashes billowing in the breeze. Silks of every hue, scarves and veils layered so extravagantly it looked, for a moment, like a giant had sneezed into a silk bazaar.

At their head, two women: Athena's sister, Marian and her stepmother Duchess Isolde, standing side by side, but worlds apart.

You didn't need a mastery of body language to read the chill between them.

I'd seen Isolde years ago, when I was little, back when she and the Duke visited our household. She hadn't changed much, though she was well over forty now. You could see the resemblance to Lilith, same catlike blue eyes, same dirty blonde hair, but that's where it ended. Lilith looked like she might kill you. Isolde looked like she'd have someone else do it, while sipping wine.

She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Duchies back then, and nothing had changed in that regard.

Tall. Futanari. Strong.

The kind of woman whose presence made even confident men suddenly forget how to blink.

A perfectly symmetrical face, like an alabaster statue. Hair braided so precisely it looked like every single strand had signed a treaty. You'd probably say thank you if she spat on you.

I bet some did.

To my surprise, she gave Thomas a cold bow, but me a warm hug when I leaned in to kiss her hand, as required by ceremony.

She told me I'd grown beautifully.

Marian was a more polished version of Athena, same rust-colored hair, same piercing green eyes. Softer on the surface. More curves, none of the sharp edges. She wore a deep violet gown embroidered with silver griffins, a heavy belt of gold scales at her waist, and a circlet in her hair, not a crown, but close enough to make the point.

It whispered "next in line" without shouting it.

But that softness ended at her skin. There was coldness there. Judgment.

She was doing the Council math. Eyes on my father, already calculating his weight in votes. She didn't know why I was there, so when I kissed her hand, she treated me like a polite breeze. I could practically hear the drawer sliding shut: Not very important.

I bet that'll change soon.

My father, the Bear, was intimidated by neither. "Lady Marian, last time I saw you, you were this high." He pointed at his knee. "You're so... You look so much like your mother."

"She spoke of you often. Very fondly," Marian said with a curtsy.

I swear, the old bear blushed like a teenager. There was an ugly rumor that my father and the late Duchess Briana (Marian and Athena's mother) had a fiery affair during the Fang Tribe Revolt. I always assumed it was one of those stories people make up out of boredom. But suddenly, I wasn't so sure.

"Ah, the charm of the North. Direct, affectionate..." Isolde's smile was colder than her eyes. The Duchess clearly didn't appreciate any attention drifting toward her stepdaughter.

"Isolde, my love. Radiant as ever." She offered her hand, but he kissed her on both cheeks. "Tell me, are you in league with the Fae Folk and their magic? You look younger every year."

Almost juvenile flattery, but the Duchess didn't seem to mind. Isolde smiled, almost genuinely. "I trust the road treated you well, Duke Edgar. I'd hate for you to arrive anything less than your best."

"Maybe it's my memory," my father said, "but the road used to be paved with fewer snakes."

Isolde chuckled. "I have my best commander on the matter of the Dark Asps."

Father glanced toward Lilith. "And I've got a hole in my pocket, shaped like twenty-two missing caravans."

"My heart breaks for every merchant lost."

"I bet it would, if you had one, Duchess."

Isolde laughed, a pleasant, high sound that somehow made it worse. "Oh, Edgar. Never a subtle moment when you're around. But there will be plenty of time for that. Would you like to freshen up after your journey? We've planned a feast for tonight."

Father shook his head. "I've had three days of rest in that broom closet you call a riverboat cabin. My father used to say: 'No better moment than the now.' And I've got great and many things to discuss with you, Isolde. Great and many things. Shall we?" He offered his arm, and she took it with practiced grace. Then her face tightened, just a flicker, but enough. Because Father offered his other arm to Marian.

It sent a message, loud and clear. He wasn't ready to choose between the ruling Duchess and the one waiting in the wings. Or maybe, just maybe, he was listening to me for once, playing them both.

But just like that, with a familiar, unpleasant sting, the grownups went off to discuss the future, including mine. I was left with the rest of the "kids" to play the choir while they rang the bells.

Stephan Longshanks, steward since Athena and Marian's grandfather's time, tall, grim, and always three seconds away from sighing at the youth of today, escorted me and Thomas to our chambers in the inner keep, a modest but comfortable set of rooms, fitting for noble guests who weren't quite the stars of the show.

He informed us we were free to roam the castle as we pleased, but under no circumstances should we leave for the city without proper escort. Not that we needed that warning, after that brick-and-shit fest of southern hospitality.

Thomas, of course, seized the first chance to go find Russel, probably hoping to irritate him with the kind of orders even a goat would ignore. That left me to wander the castle alone.

Lady Cirelle had been lodged in the south wing with the rest of our traveling circus. I stopped by, thinking maybe we could talk, but she was all business--barking orders like a general with a mop. No chance of catching her for that heart-to-heart, unless I wanted to shout over the sound of her terrorizing the Thornmarch staff.

I still wore the silver-thread ribbon she tied around my neck, the one we knotted when we whispered the Vows of Binding before a Matron of Nyssia. Very solemn. Very sacred. Very binding, unless you're traveling south, apparently.

Now I wasn't even sure what we were.

Lovers?

Me and Cirelle never shared real intimacy. She showed me her boobs once when I begged, but I doubt there are any great ballads written about that sort of thing.

Since then, I'd had sex with Lilith and Athena. I'd been more intimate with both, in ways that mattered and ways that probably didn't.

I was angry. And hurt. And beneath that, something worse, something small and cowardly.

I didn't want to look too deep. Because if I did, I might not find the love I was so certain of a few days ago.

I might find the punchline.

First things first. I needed to find Lilith. She had a debt to pay. Maybe my only semi-ally in this place. She promised to smuggle me through Port Griffin, then by ship across the ocean to the Empire, where I could start fresh. No father, no Isolde, no Marian. No past. No duty.

Easier said than done.

I tried the Thorn's Hands barracks along the East Wall. Turns out she didn't live there. She lived in the inner keep.

So I went back inside.

That's when I noticed something strange. Everyone clammed up at the mention of her. Like I'd asked for directions to the plague ward. Every single time, I got the same look, part fear, part pity, part "Go away, you weird little Northern Fae."

I finally tracked down Stephan the steward. He was kind enough to reveal that Lilith was usually away on the road, but when she wasn't, she resided, his word, not mine, in the Eastern Tower's topmost room. Either there, or out with her merry band of sociopaths, playing "guess which organ this is" on some poor sod.

The Eastern Tower wasn't hard to find. It stood apart from the rest of the keep like that guy no one invites to the party. Built from black marble, old and veined like a corpse's wrist, with a giant griffin head snarling above the entrance. Very "do not disturb." Very Lilith. It looked abandoned.

I climbed sixty-two steps. I counted. I always count. My brain doesn't let me skip it. The world might explode and all the cats on it would die. I love cats.

Three rooms, spaced out evenly up the spiral. All of them stripped bare. No furniture, no tapestries, no candle stubs. But each had the same stone floor, beautifully tiled in an elaborate mosaic. Geometric spirals in all the colors of the rainbow. The work was expensive, tasteful, and utterly pointless if this was just some forgotten annex.

The top room was also empty. But not the usual dusty, mouse-poop, forgotten kind of empty. No, this was clean. Sterile. Sanitized. Like someone had dusted the memories right off the walls.

No one lived here.

======

The South Courtyard was at least three times the size of Father's back home.

Unlike our modest northern training yard, just packed dirt and a few wooden targets, this place looked like it was built by someone who truly believed in violence as a lifestyle. If your idea of fun was sweating while hitting people with sharp objects, this was paradise.

Seven circular fighting rings were etched into the stone, each bordered with shallow runoff channels to drain away rainwater.

At the far end stood a row of human-shaped targets, some straw-stuffed burlap, others carved from wood and painted with crude faces. Most were riddled with bullet holes, especially in the parts that get you killed quick.

These southerners didn't mess around.

I spotted Sergeant Daniel barking instructions at a group of recruits. I waved. He ignored me like I was too embarrassing to note.

In one ring, two lightly armored women, a blonde and a brunette, were trying their best to maim each other. Not a spar. This looked personal. They weren't holding back.

For a second, I thought the blonde was Lilith. Same stance, same murderous grace. But up close, the blonde was too stocky. Built more like a siege engine than a slim dagger.

"Magnificent, isn't she, Lord Darian?"

The voice came from a slim, brown-skinned young man lounging on the stone rail that overlooked the training yard, one boot resting on the edge with confidence I envied. He wore a sand-colored caftan embroidered with golden sunbursts and serpents. His dark eyes scanned me with lazy interest, his thin mouth pulled into a half-smirk, part condescension, part amusement.

I hated him on instinct.

A Solharan. Desert stock. From the sunbaked duchy of Solhara, all golden spires and scorched pride. If sand could wear a waistcoat, it'd be this prick.

Next to him, a young boy in Thorn livery crouched dutifully on one knee, polishing a curved sword with a cloth so reverent you'd think it was a relic.

The blonde inside the ring was attacking relentlessly, her sabre painting the air in tight arcs. She pressed forward again and again, driving the brunette back with the kind of focus usually reserved for vendettas. Her face was red from exertion, breath ragged, but her blade never hesitated. She fought like she meant to skewer someone. Even a mediocre swordsman like me could tell she wasn't just flailing, her body moved with trained precision, parrying chest and head cuts on muscle memory alone.

"Which one of them is magnificent?" I asked.

His smile widened like I'd walked into a trap. "Well, both. Lenore is a force to be reckoned with," he said, eyes glinting. "But I was speaking of Hadil."

He gave me a bow, graceful, mocking, perfectly annoying. "I'm Rakan Azin, son of Duke Halem Azin."

So. A duke's son, like me.

Halem Azin had twelve wives, one rumored to be a futanari, and more sons than I cared to remember. For all I knew, Rakan could be sixty-seventh in line and still clawing for relevance. I bowed in return, because manners cost nothing, and the smug deserve formalities served cold.

The blonde dueling in the ring was no other than Lenore, Isolde's biological daughter from her first marriage. A predator by inclination. The brunette holding her own was Hadil-al-Mirra, the infamous duelist from the southern dunes. She served as general in times of war, and Duke Halem Azin's chief councilor and occasional executioner, depending on the season. The fact that she was here in person, and not some minor envoy with a scroll and a fruit basket, meant serious business was afoot.

Lenore kept on pressing. It's usually advisable to keep reserves when fighting but she looked like she could keep the momentum all day if only by resentment.

"Looks like Hadil's losing," I smiled right back, aiming for indifference.

"Shows what you know, Lord Darian," Rakan said, his smile unfazed. "I heard there was trouble on the road here."

"Dark Asps attack. Probably thought we were a regular caravan." I waved it off. "Nothing we couldn't handle." Which, if you ignored the screaming, the bleeding, and the part where I nearly pissed myself, was technically true.

"You mean nothing Lilith and the Hands couldn't handle."

Ah. So he was trying to be annoying on purpose.

In the ring, Hadil riposted, fast as a striking viper, slipping past Lenore's guard and forcing her back. The blonde snarled and came at her again, harder, faster, like losing a step was an insult she couldn't bear.

"My father could handle himself without Lilith's help," I said. "He fought in the Fang Tribe Revolt. Shed blood with his men while certain southern dukes chose to sit back and let others bleed."

That one slid under the kaftan.

"We in the South know better than to stick our noses where they don't belong," he said, eyes still on the fight.

"Oh," I said, "that's what it was."

Rakan chuckled. "Ah yes, the fearsome northern warriors. Broad as oxcarts. Roaring like bears." His gaze swept over me, from my slim shoulders to my boots and back up, with that infuriating smirk.

"I can hold my own," I said. "I shot one of the Asps' brigands."

"Did you, now."

I nodded, holding his gaze. Mostly to avoid punching his annoying mouth. Technically, I shot Rosie. He didn't need to know I hit fuck all.

In the ring, Lenore finally scored a hit, or so I thought. Her sabre came in low, slicing toward Hadil's hip. I felt a flash of satisfaction rise in my chest. Finally. A smug little moment I could toss at this southern prick beside me.

But it was a ruse.

Hadil twisted at the last second, letting the blade graze her outer armor. Her left hand snapped up like a trap, barehanded, clamping down on Lenore's wrist. Before the blonde could wrench free, Hadil stepped in, pivoted, and used Lenore's own momentum against her.

The sabre spun out of Lenore's grip like a coin tossed into the air, clattering somewhere outside the ring. Lenore stumbled, red-faced, breathless, and weaponless.

Hadil didn't press the attack. She simply stood there, patient as a scorpion, waiting to see if her prey would lunge again.

Lenore did.

With a roar that made the other training men stop and stare, she charged the taller woman. It earned her a knee to the groin and an armored fist to the chin. Lenore rolled in the dirt and rose, face bloodied.

"I think this is enough," Hadil-al-Mirra said, her voice a soft tenor. "Let's call it a day, m'lady."

Lenore spat a glob of blood. "It's done only when I say it's done."

There were traces of her beautiful mother in her face, but none of the delicate regality. Lenore had the muscles of a wrestler and a jaw like an anvil.

Hadil shrugged, tossed her sabre, and raised her fists.

Lenore lunged again, only to end up once more with her face in the dust.

She rose, arms raised. Too stupid or too stubborn. This time, she scooped a handful of dirt and flung it into her opponent's face as she charged.

Hadil reeled back a step, blinking. Blinded for a second, she caught a heavy fist square in the groin. She didn't stumble.

Instead, she pivoted low and slammed her shoulder into Lenore's gut, locking her arms around the girl's torso. With a grunt and a twist, Hadil hoisted Lenore off the ground and slammed her onto her back with brutal precision. She shifted fast, one knee pinning Lenore's ribs, one hand gripping her elbow, the other twisting her wrist into a tight joint-lock behind her back.

Lenore howled.

Hadil leaned close enough to whisper. "Say it."

Lenore's pride held for two heartbeats. Then three. Then,

"I yield."

Hadil released her, slow and clean, rising to her feet without even brushing the dust from her armor. She bowed deeply to her opponent.

Lenore heaved herself up like a wounded warhorse, snorting fury. "Pick up the sabre!" she barked at the Thorn-liveried boy, clearly the poor sod who'd drawn the short straw when they were handing out squires. "You tied my fucking wrist straps wrong, I couldn't feel the blade."

"My lady, I didn't-"

He didn't even finish before her fist found his face, dropping him like a sack of grain. Lenore wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, only smearing more blood across her jaw. Then her gaze found me. Sharp. Vicious. "Fucking northern fairy, what are you staring at?"

I had three clever comebacks ready. All of them ended with me spitting teeth, so I went with the mature option: shutting up. I happen to like my face the way it is, every part in its designated location.

"So much for northern bravery," Rakan muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Lenore turned on him, fast.

"Nothing! I was just saying it's inappropriate to talk like that to your future husband."

That got her attention.

"What the fuck are you on about, Sunrat?"

Rakan ignored her insult. "Your mother and Duke Edgar Valemont just left the small council chamber. Everyone already heard the news. His father wants a marriage alliance."

She stared at him, hard. Then turned that stare on me. "Is that true?"

I raised both hands. "My dad wants Castle Graywatch. I don't know what he's offering in return. Maybe a trade agreement."

Rakan snorted. "It's official and you can stop the pretense. He wants a marriage alliance. Ding dong, I hear wedding bells. You'll make a beautiful bride, Lady Lenore."

The little shit probably felt brave with Hadil-al-Mirra standing behind him. I was on my own.

Lenore didn't blink. Just kept staring like she could crack me open and read the truth inside.

"He... might go for a marriage alliance," I said, proud my voice didn't tremble.

She stepped toward me, close enough for me to smell blood and sweat. She was even bigger up close. "Might?"

"Thornmarch has three..." I almost choked on the next word. "Three eligible daughters, Athena, Marian, and... and yourself."

"Oh come off it," Rakan scoffed. "Your mother's not stupid, Lady Lenore. She's not giving Marian to the richest duchy in the realm. She'll keep that prize for her own flesh and blood." He glanced at me, smirking. "Congratulations. Looks like you're the golden goose."

Lenore grabbed my chin with strong fingers and forced me to look her dead in the eye, blood smeared and feral. She was pretty, like her mom. Beautiful, slanted blue eyes and a straight nose. Generous lips. But there was a gleam of sadism that no beauty could soften. Even though I knew my father wanted Marian as an in-law, I shuddered at the possibility he'd cave and marry me to this bully.

She suddenly licked her lips. "You're the one they call the Northern Rose?"

"He is," Hadil said, stepping up behind her. "You are one lucky girl, m'lady."

"Fuck." Lenore let go of my chin like she'd just touched a hot coal. Her anger drained, replaced by gleeful disbelief. "You're the Northern Rose!" She laughed, short, stunned. "I always thought I'd be saddled with some dull sack of titles. But you?" Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, the gods must really love me."

I don't know about the gods, but it sure looked like Lenore loved Lenore very much.

She turned to the tall warrior behind her. "You made me look bad in front of my boo, Hadil."

"You managed splendidly on your own, dear," Hadil replied.

Lenore chuckled. Maybe she wasn't the dumb brute I'd tagged her for. Then I caught the cold flicker in her eyes. Hadil had just been filed into a little drawer in Lenore's head labeled postponed revenge, best served hot.

She turned back to me. "Do you think I looked bad?"

"Losing to Hadil al-Mirra is nothing to feel bad about, m'lady. You held your own much longer than most people could. I thought you were going to win. I didn't think you looked bad." Though, beating your squire bloody didn't help. My brother taught me bullies hate honesty.

Lenore tilted her head, eyes narrowing, as if recalculating something. "I like you, Lord Darian."

And just like that, I'd gone from fucking Northern fairy to boo. Which, of course, is the hallmark of a sound and emotionally stable mind.

Lenore turned back to Hadil. "Fancy another round?"

The tall councilor raised her palms. "I have state business to attend to. And I need to prepare for the feast tonight."

"Yeah, I should clean up too," Lenore said. Then, with a grin that showed a missing tooth: "Want to come with, beautiful?"

"Come with?"

"You scrub my back, I'll scrub yours. That sort of thing."

A few people were already looking our way, including Sergeant Daniel. I tried not to blush. Naturally, I lit up like a harvest apple.

"My lady..."

"I guess there'll be plenty of time for that when we're married." She leaned in and kissed me, softly, right on the lips. Blood and all.

No one laughed. No one cheered. Not a cough, not a murmur. When you're the Countess's daughter, and the whole court watches you kiss a pretty boy in dead silence, it usually means one thing.

Fear.

Her smile lingered like blood on a blade. "See you at dinner, darling," she purred. "I'll save you a seat next to me."

Then she stomped off with the grace of a charging boar.

I only exhaled once she was out of sight.

"You're fucked," Rakan muttered.

And for once, I agreed with him.

======

Up north, I'm the guy on the sidelines. I've got a few people I call friends, though I'm not sure it's mutual. It's not just that I don't meet northern standards of manliness. My father treats me like his greatest disappointment, and that makes people keep their distance. Like it might stick.

So of course, the first time I'm the star of a party... it's one I didn't even want to attend.

Evening was setting as I washed and dressed in my best. Silk waistcoat, decorated with our house's silver wyverns. Knee-length breeches, tight to the leg, made of silk. A fine linen shirt with voluminous sleeves and ruffled cuffs that flared past the coat sleeves for dramatic effect. Low-heeled, polished leather shoes with pointed toes, perfect for dancing my way out of trouble.

Up-to-date with northern fashion, which was always ten years behind everyone else.

In the dim light, as the sun rode the Big Bear's chariot to her bed, I saw a flicker of light in the lonely Eastern Tower's top floor.

Something didn't add up.

I counted sixty-two steps up to the topmost room this morning, I always count. Sixty-two stone risers, each about hand's span high, maybe more. That's just over thirty-five feet, give or take. But standing outside now, in the fading sun, the tower's shadow stretched too long. Too tall.

Then there was the window. The flicker of light I saw, it wasn't from the room I visited. That window sat just below the eaves. The light came from the one above.

Which meant there was a floor I'd missed. A hidden room. No wonder nobody knew exactly where she stayed.

Got you, Lilith. But that for later.

Thornmarch was huge. I took two wrong turns and ended up in a strange little glade, a quiet pond ringed with white-barked trees and statues that looked like they didn't want me there. Not in an angry way. Just... like I was interrupting something ancient and personal.

I reversed course, gave up, and finally asked a kind-looking stable boy who smirked and pointed me toward the proper path to the Great Hall.

The hall was a grand, overcompensating sort of place, all towering black marble columns and echoing ceilings. It had been ruined twice and rebuilt by the missing Duke to scream "Look how big and important we are."

House Thornmarch had been in decline for years, even though it controlled one of the kingdom's key gateways to the Empire. I guess the poorer you get, the flashier the show.

Long tables sagged under the weight of roast pheasant, venison, and crimson-skinned Red Katoi from Nippon (Love Fruit). There were platters of fresh catch from the nearby sea, silver trout, fat crabs boiled scarlet and split down the middle. Oysters piled on beds of salt and lemon.

On the hall floor, a show was already in progress, actors in bear and griffin costumes performing gymnastics and what looked like tasteless lewd acts, to the glee of the diners. My father, Thomas, and Isolde sat at the head of the main table, deep in conversation. Marian was next to Thomas, trying to feign interest in his constant blabber, and failing. Not that he noticed.

When I entered the hall, she looked up. Her eyes lit.

Yep. I was no longer "not interesting."

Lenore sat near her mother, dressed in blue velvet and looking like an ox stuffed into a ball gown. It was painfully obvious she was more comfortable in breeches and battle gear.

She spotted me and rose, face alight with a massive grin.

Okay. I was not planning to spend the evening anywhere near that table.

I searched the room and finally found Athena, sitting off to the side with some of her commanders. Probably preferred it to sitting near her stepmother.

Her gaze passed through me, and for a moment I thought she'd treat me like a stranger.

Then, when no one was looking, she gave me a wink.

My heart soared.

Wait. What?

My heart doesn't soar. Not even when I'm with my secret betrothed. But it did a funny little jig in my chest when I realized she'd noticed me.

I'm good at reading other people's feelings. Not so great with my own.

I started toward her, and was intercepted.

A strong arm hooked around mine.

"Where are you going, Lord?"

Hadil al-Mirra stood beside me, dressed in a high-collared dark blue cloak and soft leathers. Her dark hair was pulled back, her nose hooked, her brown eyes soft, almost warm. But there was steel in her grip.

She reminded me of the massive Blood Eagles we have up north. The kind that can take off with a sheep.

"I want to sit there, if it's okay by you." I nodded toward Athena's table.

"Why?" She studied my face, and her eyes cooled.

I didn't answer.

She didn't wait. She dragged me behind her like a misbehaving child. Taller than Lenore, and I'd bet just as strong, maybe stronger.

She led me to the table like a prized puppy on a leash.

There was an empty chair beside Rakan. Hadil gestured for me to take it, but before I could sit, Marian spoke.

"Rakan, shift down one seat, would you?"

Her tone was light, almost absent-minded. But it wasn't a request.

Rakan hesitated just long enough to register the insult. Then he gave her a thin smile and moved. Hadil, standing behind me, didn't move a muscle, but I could feel the tension in the air like a bowstring being drawn.

What was going on?

Lenore snarled from across the table, all teeth and jealousy. Marian met her with a pleasant smile that somehow felt sharper.

I sat down between them, right where Marian wanted me.

I felt like the first prize at a tourney. Shiny, valuable, and nobody gave a damn what it thought.

"Well, that made her twitch." Marian smiled at me. There was warmth in that smile, framed by those beautiful, piercing green eyes. She was prettier than her little sister, and that says a lot, because Athena was breathtaking. But she wasn't Athena. My heart didn't beat any faster. "It sure got her attention," she said.

"Whose attention, my lady? Feels like the whole damned hall is watching."

"Marian, or darling. No more 'My Lady,' sweet husband. And I was talking about that defective brute I call a stepsister. I think if I kiss you now, her head will pop like a grape."

"We're not married, darling," I said.

"It's a done deal." She pressed her manicured hand on my leg. "You think your father will choose my stepmother over me? I'm the future. She's running on borrowed time."

I mean, if I had that kind of confidence, I'd probably be the one pressing my manicured hand on someone's leg, too, just to feel important for five minutes. "Did your crystal ball tell you all that, Marian?"

"My crystal predicted I'd marry the most beautiful boy in the Seven Duchies, with a big mouth and a tendency toward annoying sarcasm. So far, so good." She rubbed my leg.

"You prefer your husbands meek?"

"Obedient."

"Throw a ball, let's see if I fetch."

"Wanna bet, Darian?"

I wanted to tell her that more than anything, I just wanted to sit near Athena. Of course, I didn't. I'm a coward.

"He's all bark, no bite at all," Rakan added, uninvited as ever. "Like a little hedgehog with blunt spines."

I gave a slow whistle. "That's the kind of unfiltered honesty I appreciate, Rakan. Thank you. You're so smart."

He shrugged. "Just pointing out the obvious."

I shrugged right back. "Sounds a bit like a tantrum to me."

"Really?"

"That wasn't pointing the obvious. That was a sulk dressed as a sentence. If I may, Marian, perhaps I could swap places with Rakan. You've hurt his pride, and I'm catching the emotional debris."

"No," she said, "you can't," and leaned in to give me a soft kiss. Her lips were full, warm, uncannily like kissing Athena.

Across the table, Lenore dropped her silver goblet. It clattered against the wood, sloshing red wine in a wide arc.

"You're trying to piss her off?" I asked, a little out of breath.

"It worked. Not that it's something I should brag about. You can make Lenore furious just by blinking at her. My stepsister carries a chip the size of the Empire on her shoulder." She smiled. "Plus, I really did want to know what the Northern Rose tastes like."

Like guilt. And anger. And maybe a bit of arousal.

"What's the verdict?"

"I'll have to make further inquiries." Her voice dipped. "Don't worry, plenty of time for that later tonight, in my chambers."

You could run ten riverboat engines on the confidence of my bride-to-be.

"I don't think this is appropriate talk, my la- Marian."

"You're cute." Marian plucked a slice of honeyed fig from her plate, raised it to my lips. "Open," she whispered with a wicked smile.

I did. She slid it past my teeth with two fingers, slow and deliberate. Sweet. Sticky.

I chewed. Swallowed. Tried not to glance at Lenore. Failed.

Rakan watched like a man forced to attend his own funeral. His jaw was clenched, his wine untouched, and for the first time tonight, the smug mask cracked.

And then it hit me, like a bride's bouquet straight to the face.

It all made perfect sense. Why Hadil al-Mirra, chief advisor to the Duke of Solhara, and his son were here. Halem Azin had the exact same idea my father did for different reasons. There was a shift coming in Thornmarch, and the dukes of the Seven Duchies could smell the opportunity.

"You're here to marry Marian," I said, turning to him. "And my father just barged in and stepped all over your plans."

No denial. Just a twitch of the eyebrow and a forced sip of wine.

"Children." Marian stood, drew her chair back with deliberate grace, then shoved mine to the left and planted herself between the two of us like a nanny settling a dispute. She took my hand in one, Rakan's in the other. "No one is stepping over any plans. I'm going to marry both of you. And as much as this is amusing, I'd prefer my husbands got along."

Oh right. She was already wed to some old count, promised at birth to one of her father's oldest allies. Now she wanted two dukes' sons to call her own. Marian was ambition laced up in silk.

"M'lady," Hadil al-Mirra leaned in from the other side. "In light of this new development, I'll need to consult my duke before we proceed further."

"Be a darling and do that." Marian gave her a stare cold enough to ice a bath. "But no more politics tonight. It's been a long day, and I came to drink. There's a comedy show in a minute, Darian, do you like comedy shows?"

"What's a comedy show?"

"Oh, I forgot you northern barbarians get the current fashion a hundred years after everyone else." She gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

At the far end of the hall, the crowd parted for a wiry man in crimson breeches and a matching doublet that had seen better centuries. On his head sat a lopsided felt cap, decorated, inexplicably, with a wooden axe blade sticking through it, as if someone had tried to split his skull and missed by inches. He vaulted onto the low platform without announcement, rolled into a somersault, and sprang up grinning.

"That's considered funny?" I asked.

"Patient, husband."

"Not your husband."

"Technicality."

"Evening, noble folk!" the jester called, arms wide. "I trust your cups are full and your marriages tolerably happy."

Polite laughter. Then real laughter when he added, "Though in this hall, that's a bold assumption."

He spun through rhymed verses and biting mimicry. I was more focused on Athena. She sat at her table drinking cup after cup like her blood was made of wine and her liver had signed a treaty with the gods. The men with her were laughing and clapping. She just kept pouring. Like getting drunk wasn't a pleasure, it was a duty.

Marian caught me staring. Her eyebrow rose, slow and sharp. I turned away and felt my neck go red.

The jester on the stage was rattling off one-liners now.

"Knights don't have sex before battle. Know why?" He waited half a beat. "They don't fancy each other."

Half the guests laughed because it was funny, the other half laughed because they weren't the target.

Then he turned and bowed deeply toward the high table.

"A toast to the Lady of Thornmarch! The jewel of the realm! Ageless as stone, and nearly as warm!"

Oops.

A few polite coughs. Isolde's smile didn't so much as twitch. Her eyes slid to Marian, who was swirling her wine like it was a lover. She didn't look up.

The jester, oblivious or pretending, carried on.

"Her Grace commands the hearts of men, mainly by keeping theirs buried with their bodies. But I digress."

A howl of laughter rose from the fireplace. Even one of the guards smirked. The man was playing with fire. A well-known conspiracy claimed Isolde had her Duke killed and buried five years ago so she could rule alone.

"I know why we don't have them up north," I said. "This guy at my father's hall would've had a real axe in his head by now."

"He's new," Marian whispered. "The one who was supposed to perform caught a sudden case of cowardice. Or two men with knives in a hallway, depends who you ask."

"Who hired this one?"

She just laughed and gave me another kiss. "You're so cute."

"Wow," I said. "Remind me to never end up on your bad side, Marian."

She kissed me again on the neck. "You're cute and dangerous, Darian. Kind of irresistible."

"You're a bit drunk, Marian."

"More than a bit. And it's not just the alcohol. Care to dance?"

The band struck up the Kavono, violins, cello, and double bass weaving together the rise-and-fall melody of a nobleman's courtship ritual. A three-step sequence in a box pattern, meant to be elegant and refined. Cirelle had been mine and Thomas's dancing tutor. I used to love the Kavono because it let me hold her close without anyone calling it inappropriate.

Dancing with Marian was a different experience altogether.

Cirelle made the Kavono feel like floating, graceful, precise, subtly romantic with the right person. With Marian, it felt more like being mugged of your innocence to the rhythm of the violins.

She led, obviously. And not subtly. One arm clamped around my waist like she was claiming territory with knights and guns. The other steering me with firm pressure, fingers trailing across places no dance lesson by Cirelle ever sanctioned. She spun me through the steps with effortless authority, whirling us through the crowd of nobles like we were the centerpiece. Every turn, every dip, every brush of her thigh was a statement.

Not so much a dance as a public demonstration: Everyone take a good look at this boy with his beauty and titles. He is mine.

When she finally let me go, sweaty, breathless, and slightly rattled, I barely made it two steps before Hadil-al-Mirra offered me her hand with a sly smile. Then came two noblewomen I didn't recognize, followed by a baroness whose dress and jewelry probably cost more than a minor castle. Apparently, word had spread. I was a hot commodity now. People knew which side of the bread the butter was smeared, and Marian had smeared it publicly and possessively.

The baroness and I danced for a single round, she barely finished her second curtsy before Marian cut in like a sabre. "Sorry, darling," she said sweetly, already pulling me away by the wrist. "This one's mine for another round."

Before I could blink, I was back in her grip, one hand on my lower back, the other steering me firmly into the next dance. She didn't wait for my consent. Marian didn't ask. Marian took.

"Marian and Darian, it even rhymes." Someone tapped my back as we paused to catch our breath. "But will it stick?"

I turned. Isolde, who I'd seen dancing with my father earlier, extended a hand to me. "Can you spare your beautiful partner for a dance, dear?"

"Why, of course, Mother." Marian leaned in and hugged her, all smiles. "Be gentle with her, Darian, those hips are practically heirlooms."

"You always were quick with your tongue, Marian. Shame it's the only thing that's quick. Nice touch with the jester."

"He was just excellent."

My soon-to-be mother-in-law let out a snort, half amusement, half acid. "Come, Darian, before my beloved daughter's head swells too large for the grand hall."

She swept me into another round of Kavono, a little faster this time. Graceful and nimble, like a ballet dancer with a switchblade. Old hips? I could barely keep up.

"How do you find our court so far, Darian?" Her arms held me just as tightly as her stepdaughter's had.

"Different." I was mostly focused on not stepping on her toes.

"You're not used to being the center of attention."

"What did you and my father agree on?"

"Wow. The blunt apple didn't fall far from the blunt tree."

"I'm usually more subtle. I'm just scared, m'lady."

"Why?" She dipped her hand lower, and suddenly, it was squeezing my bum.

I bit my lip to avoid squealing like a piglet on the butcher's block.

"You know, Darian," she said, voice silky, "I once told your mother that when you grew up, you'd be a sight to make any futanari girl's blood boil. Your mother laughed, of course. But I wasn't joking, you were exceptionally beautiful boy and growing up only improved your looks. Those eyes of yours..." Her hand squeezed again. "I'm starting to think we should bring back the old tradition of Prima Nocta."

Oh, boy.

======

I tried to get a minute with my father after the dance. I wanted to know if he was serious about selling me to Marian, or if maybe he'd gotten a better offer from Isolde and I'd end up with Lenore instead. Unfortunately, he'd parked himself beside Corina Talvek, who looked her usual smug self.

No chance I was sitting within claw's reach of that woman.

I'm usually good at disappearing. Years of practice. So when the moment came, I ducked behind a tall server with a tray of plates and slipped out onto a massive balcony overlooking the sea. A ship was drifting eastward across the horizon, lit silver by the full moon. I stared at it and imagined myself on board, sailing toward someplace where no one knew my name. No lineage. No schemes. No girls looking at me like I was something to unwrap and devour.

"You make a good-looking couple."

What? I jumped. Someone was already out on the balcony, half-hidden in the shadow of a griffin statue.

"Athena?" I felt myself blush. "Who makes a good-looking couple? Me and Isolde? Me and Marian? Or me and Lenore?"

She stepped out of the shadows, bottle in hand, the dark glass catching the moonlight. Valemont vintage, rich and bitter, like everything else tonight. She didn't answer directly. Just murmured, "The real dangerous snakes are in this court, not outside in the hills."

"You're drunk."

"So observant. Want to sketch me while I'm sloshed? Capture the tragic downfall of a noble lady?"

I suddenly felt like I'd been accused of something, but no one had told me the crime, or what line of defense I should follow. "I hate it here, Marian."

"Here on the balcony?"

"Thornmarch. This place is terrifying."

"Grow a pair."

"Athena, your mother-"

"Stepmother," she snapped.

"Sorry." Her real mother had died giving birth to her. "Being stuck between your stepmother and your big sister is... I'd honestly rather go hunt Dark Asps."

She chuckled, low and bitter. "You looked like you were doing just fine, dancing around like everyone's favorite marionette."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Are you mad at yourself, Athena?"

She leaned back against the griffin statue, eyes half-lidded. "It's a long drop from here to the ocean, you know. And we both remember, you can't swim."

"You're mad at me."

"You're full of shit, Darian."

"What did I ever do to you?"

"I almost bought your little act." She suddenly hurled the bottle over the railing, into the dark.

"What act?"

"That clueless, helpless puppy show you put on. I felt sorry for you."

Drunk or not, she was really starting to piss me off. "I don't need your pity, Athena."

"Of course you don't." She scoffed. "You're swimming with sharks like you were born in the water. Smiling, bowing, dancing with all the pretty monsters, like it's nothing. Like it doesn't cost you anything."

"I'm doing what I can, Athena. I'm not a six foot fighter like you, I don't have loyal Talons to follow me. I have to get by with what I have, and if that means learning how to swim with sharks then I'll learn to swim faster and smile while they circle. You're angry with me because I'm trying? Seems like you've given up long ago."

She pushed off the statue, swaying slightly. Her eyes found mine, hard, glossy, aching. "Meanwhile I sit up here like some drunk gargoyle," she said. "Pretending I wouldn't have said yes if you'd asked me first." She shoved me. Not playfully.

There it goes, my heart, hammering like a traitor. I leaned in. Tried to kiss her. She shoved me harder, like I'd insulted her. "Just so you know," I said, "I'd rather dance with you than any of those women back there."

Something in her cracked. She was on me in a second, body tight against mine, cornering me at the rail.

"I'm never gonna dance with you," she growled. "Ever. You hear me?" She pressed herself close. I could feel her getting hard. "Never! You're hers now."

"I don't belong to anyone."

I tried to push her back, but she didn't move. "You belong to my sister." Her voice trembled. "I'm not a monster, Darian."

"You're drunk."

"I'm not a traitor." Her fingers slid up my chest under my shirt. "That's why I'll never touch you again. You hear me?"

Loud and clear. "Athena-"

"I said I'm not a traitor." She leaned in, hot breath, wine-stained lips, and for a second, I thought she'd kiss me.

She didn't.

She vomited.

All over us.

======

Sergeant Daniel helped me tuck Athena into her cot in the Talons' barracks. He didn't say a word, just nodded like this wasn't the first time. I didn't offer much of an explanation, he didn't need one.

I cleaned myself up as best I could, then slipped off to try and sneak back into my room.

No luck.

The party had shifted from the grand hall to the inner courtyard. They were gearing up to play Ducatus Arcanum. Seven Duchies hide and seek. The noble guests were gathered around a massive fountain draped in ivy and silk banners, its rim littered with rose petals and empty goblets. Iron lanterns stood tall on poles, their oil-fed flames casting golden light across the flagstones. Torch sconces flickered along the keep walls, crackling in the evening breeze. The shifting shadows made the griffin and faun statues in the garden seem to breathe.

It was festive. It was bright. I wanted no part of it.

They were pairing people off for the Ducatus Arcanum. A search around the courtyard, gardens, and inner halls. Seven golden balls, each inscribed with one of the Duchies' house symbols, had been hidden across the grounds. Find one and win a prize.

So exciting one could puke.

I stood as hidden as I could manage, behind a muscular fae statue. At least I think he was a fae, he had pointy ears, a magic wand, and the kind of grimace that suggested either he was casting something world-shattering or trying very hard to take a dump. Hard to say.

Once the great ball hunt began, I'd slip out with the rest of them, just another idiot nobling crawling through bushes in search of shiny balls. All I had to do was look eager and mildly inbred.

No such luck.

"Lord Darian, I'll be your partner."

Short man. Shorter than me, and I'm not exactly towering. Stocky build. Late forties, maybe early fifties. His hairline was visibly losing the war against time, clinging to the sides like retreating soldiers. He compensated with an explosion of purple velvet, coat and matching trousers. Thornmarch symbols on his clothes. One of their lesser nobles. A count or a baron, hard to tell which.

"I'm... I think I was supposed to be paired with-"

"You're with me," he said, grabbing my wrist before I could fish out a proper excuse. "I have a good idea where to find the balls."

I'll kick yours, then you can find them. Said only in my head, of course, because social norms.

"I'm Count Felix of House Noam."

Oh shit. Marian's husband.

Now I remembered seeing him behind her at the morning reception. I'd assumed he was part of the help.

I didn't say anything, mostly because my brain politely vacated the premises. What was I supposed to say? Nice to meet the man I might be replacing? It was obvious to everyone that Marian wanted to marry me. I could end up as her second husband. Or, more realistically, she could just dump Felix altogether, especially if my father put his boot down.

Pairing with him to search for a stupid golden ball was redefining the boundaries of awkward. Then I had a cheerful thought as he started dragging me into one of the inner halls, maybe he planned to stab me and stuff my body into a wardrobe. He looked determined enough. He certainly wasn't searching for anything, unless it was a discreet place to commit a socially inconvenient murder. He dragged me with dizzying purpose, through shadowy halls and half-lit rooms.

"Lord Felix," I started. "About Marian."

"Duchess Marian."

"Right. Duchess Marian," I said. Technically, she wasn't a duchess yet, but he looked determined enough to break my arm if I said so out loud.

"Your future wife. You'd best remember that. Being a duke's son doesn't give you license to toy with her honor."

What a charming little dwarf of a nutcase, I thought. First chance I get, I'm bolting.

"Duchess Marian doesn't like flippant men," he added.

"Ah... I'm... okay. Look, Felix. We play Ducatus Arcanum in my father's court too. Most people just fake searching and call it a night. This feels a little... committed."

He didn't answer. Just kept walking, still holding my wrist.

"Marian," he said after a while, "was born with fire in her veins. She's the sharpest blade in this crumbling castle. The only one fit to carry Thornmarch forward. Every man she's ever touched was better for it. Every fool who crossed her bled for it. The gods make women like her once in a millennia."

Maybe the Marquis of Madness was planning to sacrifice me on the altar of his goddess? I thought I should mention I'm no longer a virgin, just to stay on the safe side.

We passed four guards stationed at the end of a long hall, posted around a heavy red door. Unlike the ceremonial jokers I'd seen lounging around the outer grounds, these ones were sharp. Eyes sweeping the shadows, hands resting on hilts. They didn't wear the sigils of the Talons or the Hands, no hawks or gauntlets, just plain dark armor trimmed in crimson.

They scanned me as though I might have a blade hidden between my ribs. One of them murmured a word I didn't catch, and only then did they step aside.

The room we entered was lit with oil lanterns. The ceiling soared high above, its surface traced with intricate plasterwork. In the dim light, I could make out falcon and griffin heads staring down at me from a forest of thorny vines. A crystal chandelier hung at the center, scattering light across the carpeted floor. The candlelight danced in the tall mirrors between the towering windows, reflecting everything back a dozen times.

The windows themselves were arched and enormous, draped in rich emerald velvet and looking out over the bay below. It looked like the room of a queen, or the future duchess.

A massive canopied bed stood beside the window, all satin and silk. And on top of it, well, it took me a few seconds to register. At first glance, I thought some mystical beast had taken up residence, all limbs and impossible angles.

Marian, naked, her hair a waterfall of bronze spilling down her back. She was on all fours, back arched, her pale skin almost luminous against the dark sheets. Her face was turned to the side, eyes half-closed, lips parted in pleasure as soft moans escaped her throat with each movement.

Behind her stood Hadil-al-Mirra, tall and hard like a blade, her brown skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Body sculpted by years of training. Lean muscle rippled across her shoulders and arms as she gripped Marian's hips. Her breasts were small and firm, and they rose and fell with each thrust.

Between her legs jutted her cock, thick and dark, sliding in and out of Marian with deliberate, unhurried strokes. Each time she pushed forward, Marian's body yielded with a shudder and a gasp. Each time she withdrew, almost to the tip, Marian would push back, desperate not to lose the connection.

She was a beautiful woman dressed in silk, my would be wife, she looked even better naked. The candlelight caught every curve, every hollow, transforming her skin into something between marble and honey. Not muscular like Athena, softer, fuller. Her melon-sized breasts swayed hypnotically with each thrust from the futanari noble behind her, the nipples dark and taut against her pale skin.

Her ass was a work of art, peachy, round, firm, rising to meet Hadil's thrusts with eager anticipation. The kind of ass poets would write ballads about, if they weren't too busy drooling. I couldn't help wondering just how it might feel to bite it, to hear what sounds she'd make if I did.

Hadil's hips rolled with the practiced rhythm of someone who knew exactly how to build pleasure slowly. Her movements were controlled, powerful without being rough.

She wasn't rushing. She was savoring.

Marian's fingers clutched at the sheets. Her head fell forward, that glorious hair spilling around her face like a curtain. When she moaned again, it was deeper, more needy.

"Like this?" Hadil asked, changing her angle slightly, pushing deeper.

"Yes," Marian gasped. "Gods, yes, just like that."

My future wife, the woman who'd been kissing me not an hour ago was being thoroughly, lovingly fucked by the chief advisor to the Duke of Solhara.

Felix still gripped my wrist, but he wasn't watching me anymore. His eyes were fixed on the bed, on his wife and her lover, with an expression that wasn't anger or jealousy. The nutcase looked at his unlawful wife with something closer to reverence.

I wanted to stay and watch so badly it hurt. It was the first time I'd seen two women, futanari, together like that. Power and sensuality layered and multiplied, tenfold, a hundredfold. It was... hypnotizing.

So of course, I turned to leave.

Only to find Felix had locked the door.

"Hey," I whispered, trying not to disturb the moaning, undulating royalty on the bed. "No golden balls in here. I mean, plenty of balls. I mean... just open the door."

"The duchess asked for your presence."

"Open the door, Felix. I'm not even joking."

"The duchess asked for your presence."

"Open the fucking door."

"The duchess asked for your presence." The wheel was spinning, but the hamster had been dead for years. Was he always like this, or was this just what long-term exposure to Marian did to a man?

On the bed, Marian's moans intensified. She was agreeing to everything. A lot.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-"

Her fingers bunched the silk sheets into desperate fists as Hadil abandoned the slow, deliberate rhythm. Control gave way to something rougher, urgent.

"Fuck, yes," Marian gasped, her noble tongue slipping into the language of tavern whores. A bit like Athena.

Why the hell was I thinking about Athena right now?

"Harder!" Marian cried.

Hadil obliged, her powerful body coiling and releasing with each thrust. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed through the chamber. Sweat glistened on Hadil's brown skin, droplets tracing paths down the valley of her spine.

"Take it!" Hadil growled, her voice rough with exertion. One hand tangled in Marian's rust-colored hair, pulling just enough to arch her back into a deeper curve.

"Yes, gods, don't stop," Marian whimpered, her voice breaking. "Right there, right, ah!"

Her entire body shuddered violently. Her arms gave out first, face pressing into the mattress while her ass remained raised, still eagerly meeting Hadil's pistoning cock. My future wife, face down, ass up, being thoroughly claimed by another.

Hadil's movements grew more erratic, her breathing harsh and ragged. "Take it," she hissed. "Take all of it."

Marian's answering cry was muffled against the sheets, her body trembling uncontrollably as she collapsed fully onto the bed. But Hadil wasn't finished. She followed Marian down, stretching her tall, muscular body over Marian's softer form, pounding the wanna be duchess deeper into the mattress.

Hadil's hips continued to move in shallow, grinding circles, working her still-hard cock inside Marian's body. Her round buttocks rose and fell in an obscene rhythm, muscles flexing she looked like a predatory desert tiger. Up and down, up and down, like some relentless pleasure machine.

"No more," Marian moaned weakly. "I can't, "

"You can," Hadil growled, her lips against Marian's ear. She shifted her weight to one arm, the other snaking beneath Marian's body to find her cock or clit, I couldn't tell which. Marian's entire body jerked at the contact, a strangled sound escaping her throat.

"There we go," Hadil purred, her ass still pumping steadily. "There we go. Give me one more, Marian."

I stood frozen, unable to look away, painfully, equally, aroused and horrified. Felix's grip on my wrist had slackened. His other hand drifted to his trousers. He touched himself, almost nervously. Then the idiot slapped his own hand, like it had betrayed him.

"I'm not allowed to touch myself without her permission," he said.

"That's... definitely a piece of information I could've lived my whole life without, Felix."

"This is sacred, you know," he continued. "Not the act, her. When she's like this, pure, in heat, in control, it's like watching the gods fuck the world back into order."

Yeah, completely bonkers.

Marian's second climax built as quickly as the first, her body moving with less coordination, more desperation. When it finally hit, she screamed into the pillow, her entire form convulsing beneath Hadil's weight.

Hadil buried herself deep one last time with a guttural groan that seemed to start from her toes. Her powerful body went rigid, every muscle locked in that final, perfect moment of release. I watched, transfixed, as her ass clenched tight, those strong thighs trembling with the effort of holding herself still while she emptied everything she had into Marian.

I could practically see the massive, dark balls between Hadil's legs contract as they pumped their contents deep inside my future wife. Each pulse sent a visible shiver up Hadil's spine, her head thrown back, throat exposed, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

"I think they're done, can we go now, Felix?" I said.

"Shut up!" He nearly slapped me. I was certain he would at some point, if, for instance, I forgot to pray to Marian six times a day or looked her in the eyes without her written permission.

Marian rose from the bed, her glorious nakedness glorious. She draped a silk robe over her shoulders, leaving everything up front for anyone inclined to admire. Her toned body bore splotches of red from exertion, but she looked more alive than she had all evening.

"Liked the show?" she asked, almost casually.

"I..."

"Yes," croaked a voice from the corner, making me jump.

Someone was sitting there, someone I hadn't noticed, because my brain had been entirely preoccupied with what was happening on the bed. In a carved chair with lion-claw legs, directly facing the mattress, sat Rakan Azin, son of Duke Halem Azin.

He looked like he'd seen a god or a ghost, or both at once. Like his brain melted. His dark skin had gone corpse-pale, eyes glassy and darting. His mouth hung open in stunned awe. Someone had reached down his throat and yanked out everything he thought he knew about sex and reality.

Marian chuckled. She bathed in admiration, and I could give her that, she earned every ounce of it.

"My three little husbands, all together," she said.

I raised a finger like the most dutiful kid in class. "My father has yet to determine if I marry you or Lenore, or neither." I inched away from Felix, because he looked like he was about to commit homicide.

Marian chuckled again. "I've spoken to your father tonight. It's a done deal."

"It's-"

"We shook hands on it, Darian. He gets Graywatch, and a lot more."

My father was many things, but he was also a man of honor. He considered a man's word, and a handshake, holier than the Emberstone of Nyssia, Lady of the Hearth and Seal.

"It might take a few weeks for your father to convince Isolde," she went on. "He's planning to sweeten the blow by offering one of his vassals to Lenore and promising Isolde some bullshit position for her to fulfill on the council. But he knows I'm the future and she's the past."

"Oh." I had no more words to offer.

"With your father and Halem Azin, I have four votes on the council. Once I'm Duchess, we'll be five. A force like the Seven Duchies has never seen before."

Felix started clapping. She hushed him with a sharp stare.

My future wife had managed to sign an alliance the Seven Duchies has yet to see, north and south united, seal the deal with the Solharans, judging by them being here, dance me around the hall, and get her brains fucked out by Hadil-al-Mirra. All in a single evening.

What could she accomplish given 24 hours?

"You and me, Darian. It's fate."

No such thing as fate, I thought, except for people like Marian, who carved reality to fit her wants.

Marian drew herself up, graceful as ever, as if she wasn't still half-glowing from being railed into enlightenment.

"I know what you're all thinking," she said, slipping into that cool, commanding tone. "Three husbands. Politics. Position. A bed that's going to get crowded."

Especially if you let Hadil in it, I thought.

"But I want you to hear me clearly, I intend to be a fair wife. Equal to all. No favoritism, no games. You'll each have my time, my attention, and my respect."

Felix actually looked misty-eyed.

Rakan looked like he was still processing but eager.

I snorted. Then covered my mouth as Hadil gave me a savage look from the bed.

Marian walked toward us like a general before a battle. "Your needs will be met. Your ambitions respected. You will not be rivals. You will be partners. Brothers."

Brothers? Sure. Like Felix's parents. "Okay, great talk," I said. "Can I go back to my room now? It's way past my bedtime."

Marian laughed. "You're something else."

"Beats being 'nothing at all. Can I go be something else, elsewhere?"

"I want one of you to stay with me tonight."

"I snore," I said, "but Felix, my new brother, looks like he'll burst into flames if he's not tucked in by midnight."

My new brother snarled at me. I still preferred the dummy over Thomas, so I gave him an innocent smile and a thumbs-up. "So, a key to the door? Anyone?"

Marian ignored me.

Hey, it only took her one evening of knowing me to treat me like everyone else. Like a cute puppy. You can bark and we'll laugh, but nobody actually cares about anything coming out of your mouth.

She turned without a word and glided toward a lacquered table near the window. On it sat a crystal bowl filled with polished sugar pearls, round, glossy confections in red, yellow, and white. Not quite candy, not quite fruit. Very posh very noble.

"Each of you, pick a color," she said, her fingers hovering over the bowl. "Whichever I draw, that man shares my bed tonight."

Rakan stepped forward immediately, eyes gleaming with the hunger of someone who believed in luck. "Yellow," he said, puffing his chest. "Like the sands of Solhara."

Felix didn't hesitate either. "Red. For House Noam."

Marian turned to me.

"Ehhh..." I gave her a slow blink. "Pass?"

"Then you get white," she said, plucking one of the pale pearls and letting it roll between her fingers. "Like the snows of Valemont. Cold, aloof, and always pretending not to care."

She dipped her hand into the bowl, stirring with exaggerated care. Then, with a theatrical flourish, she drew out...

White.

Felix's jaw tensed. Rakan swore under his breath.

I sighed. Well, fair is fair, it was an even chance.

And cats bark and cows go meow.

======

Marian had a brass bathtub in a small room connected to hers. The thing was perched on sturdy iron legs sculpted to resemble lions, their manes frozen mid-roar. The tub was big enough to host a Seven Ducal Council meeting, with room left over for the minstrels.

Just the number of buckets needed to fill this monstrosity was dizzying.

But unlike up north, where you'd call in half the castle staff with buckets and sore backs, Marian simply twisted two brass knobs attached to copper pipes that snaked up from the floor. Magic happened, water gushed forth from both. One pipe delivered cold water, clear as a mountain spring. The other poured steaming hot water, fogging up the room with mist.

I couldn't help myself. I kept playing with the knobs, adjusting the temperature, watching the water rise.

Marian stared at me with same look my tutors gave me when I asked if the Duchy's grain taxes funded their wine cellar.

"But how does it not overflow? Where does the extra water go?"

She sighed, long and theatrical. "There's a drain. See that little brass plug? Pull it and, " She stopped herself. "Gods, you're like a child with a new toy."

I grinned. "I'm easily entertained. Can I go to my room for a moment?"

"No."

"I'll come back, honest. I just need to fetch my sketchbook. To immortalize this plumbing miracle."

"No." She stood abruptly, her silk robe sliding off one shoulder. "Enough questions. Take it off, sweetheart."

"What?"

"You heard me." Her fingers worked the sash at her waist. "I want to bathe. And you're going to join me."

"I can wait outside while you-"

"Take it off, sweetheart. I'm not asking twice."

I wanted to point she already asked twice, but there was no room for nitpicking in that voice. I started with my boots. Marian watched, arms crossed, one foot tapping. When I hesitated at my shirt buttons, she stepped forward and simply ripped it open, sending tiny pearl buttons skittering across the marble floor.

"Hey! That was Velvaren silk!"

"I'll buy you ten more," she said, yanking the torn shirt down my arms. "You're too slow."

Her hands moved to my breeches, unlacing them with practiced ease. I stood there, cheeks burning, as she stripped me like a spoiled child dressing down her favorite toy. Within moments, I was naked, covering myself with my hands.

She took her time looking me over, her eyes sweeping from my face down to my toes and back again.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured. "You look like one of the fae folk from my childhood legend books. You're perfect. Everyone envied me when we danced today."

I searched her face for sarcasm. Found none.

"Can I get in the water now?" I asked, desperate to disappear beneath the surface.

She laughed and let her robe fall. Her body was magnificent in the lamplight, all soft curves and hidden strength. Those breasts that had been teasing me through fabric. Full and round, with dusky nipples that hardened in the cooler air. Between her legs, her cock hung heavy, already half-hard from looking at me.

I climbed in and couldn't help but sigh as the hot water enveloped me. It was perfect, not scalding, not tepid. I slid down until the water reached my shoulders.

Marian followed, stepping in with the grace of someone who'd done this a thousand times. She settled behind me, her legs bracketing mine, and pulled me back against her chest.

"Nice, isn't it," she said.

"Not the worst bath I've been in."

The scent of jasmine and something spicier, cinnamon, maybe, rose with the steam. And the feel of Marian's soft skin against my back was distracting in the best possible way.

She reached for a small porcelain jar on a nearby shelf, opening it to reveal a creamy substance that smelled of honey and cloves.

"Soap from Westana," she explained, dipping a soft sponge into the jar. "Made with olive oil instead of animal fat."

The sponge glided over my shoulders, slow and lazy. Marian worked methodically, washing my neck, my arms, my chest. Her free hand followed the sponge, fingers tracing patterns on my wet skin.

"Why so tense?" she asked.

"You kept the stupid white ball in your hand," I said. "The one you showed us. Then when you dipped into the bowl, you only pretended to pick another sugar pearl."

"Aren't you a clever little brat," she said, twisting my nipple like it was a the water knob. "And cheeky. I like both, just don't overdo them."

Oh good. We've reached the stage of the relationship where I get performance reviews. "So that speech about impartiality and equality..."

Her palm flattened against my abdomen, fingers splayed. I could feel her hardening against my lower back, pressing insistently between us.

"What do you want me to say? I'm only human. Rakan's a 'meh'... and Felix? You've seen Felix. His parents are so closely related the family tree's basically a straight branch. I haven't touched him in over a year."

"Did you really tell him he's not allowed to touch himself without your permission?"

"He was like one of those horny zoo monkeys. Did it at my grandmother's funeral because the light hit my cheek the wrong way and he couldn't contain himself. Disgusting."

"Now I actually feel bad for the crazy little guy."

Her hand dipped lower beneath the water, finding me already half-hard. "What about feeling sorry for me, Darian? My father promised me when I was three months old and Felix was eighteen. Sold me to Felix's father for an iron mine so he can fund a stupid war."

"I would feel sorry for you, except it's obvious you take excellent care of your needs."

"I'm a futanari noble." She didn't raise her voice, she said it as if it was fait accompli, like the sun rising. "I'm not one of your meek northern ladies. Better not forget it, Darian. I have sex with whoever I want, whenever I want."

"Yeah, we've seen that tonight," I said. "What's the strategy, close your eyes and point at someone?"

She flicked my ear, sharp and fast. "Hadil and I had an affair for over a year. Or as nobles call it, negotiations in bed. It grew into an alliance with her duke." Her fingers wrapped around me again, giving a gentle squeeze that made my breath catch.

Then she flipped me so I was facing her, straddling her shapely legs, her cock hard and wanting against the valley of my bum. Water sloshed around us, spilling over the rim of the tub as I settled awkwardly on her lap. Her hands gripped my waist, steadying me, her fingers pressing hard into my skin.

She stared at me hard, eyes narrowed, like she was trying to decode a particularly frustrating cipher. "I'll always choose the white ball, Darian."

"In the name of impartiality."

She shook her head. "Because Felix disgusts me. Rakan's a nice boy, but..." Her eyes lingered. "You, on the other hand, I've been hard since we started dancing tonight."

It wasn't like her to expose vulnerability. It unsettled me, even though her choices, her wants, felt like the only thing that mattered.

"Don't you think I'm pretty?" she asked, suddenly.

I nodded. Because of course she was. The kind of beauty that made people stop and stare, that commanded attention without trying.

"Say it with words, Darian."

"You're beautiful," I said, and meant it. "Anyone with eyes can see that."

Her fingers tightened on my waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who was in control. "So? You're into men, not women?"

"Not that I know of."

"So the fact that I'm a futanari is bothering you? You don't have our kind up north."

I thought about Lilith's hands on me. Athena's mouth on mine, her cock in my throat. The way my body had responded, eager, honest, impossible to deny.

"Since I came south," I said, "I've learned futanari are my favorite kind of women."

"Really?"

I nodded. "You don't strike me as someone who's insecure about her looks."

She arched her eyebrow. "Most men, by now, would be begging to fuck me, or for me to fuck them. Not trying to get on my nerves."

"I'm not most men," I said.

"So, not into men, but into futanari. Hmmm... Are you into my little sister?"

Oops. I walked into that. My heart didn't skip a beat, it did a full acrobatic spin, landed and bowed down for applause. My mouth went dry. "No, no..." I stammered, my voice climbing higher than intended. "Lenore is... Why would you say that? Lenore scares me. I'm not attracted."

She kissed my lips, soft and slow then cupped my ass lightly. Without warning, her finger pressed against my entrance, not entering, just exploring. I tensed, unsure, caught between nervousness and something else. The pad of her finger circled slowly, applying gentle pressure.

"Nice try, Darian. Lenore is not a sister, she's a side effect of Isolde. Care to try again? Are you into my real sister?"

"What do you mean?"

Before I could process what was happening, her finger plunged inside me, sharp, sudden, invasive. The intrusion burned, a hot spike of sensation that shot up my spine and all the way to the tip of my cock.

"Ah!" I yelped, my body jerking upward in the water, trying instinctively to escape.

Marian captured my cry with her mouth, silencing me with a kiss so deep it felt like drowning. Her tongue pushed past my lips, mirroring what her finger was doing below. Claiming. Invading. Taking.

Water sloshed violently around us as I squirmed. My hands flew to her shoulders, pushing against her, but she was immovable as stone. The futanari's strength was shocking, delicate as she looked in her gowns, her muscles were iron beneath that soft skin.

Her finger wiggled inside me, twisting, exploring. The burn transformed into something else, not quite pleasure, not quite pain, but a strange, overwhelming fullness that made my cock twitch against my will.

"Stop-" I gasped when she finally released my mouth.

I tried to stand, to lift myself off her lap, but her free arm clamped around my waist like a vise. She pushed me down harder, impaling me further on her finger. My legs trembled, trapped between hers in the confines of the tub.

"I don't care for liars or performers. If you wanted to act like an idiot, you're late to the show." Her finger curled inside me, finding a spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. My cock jumped, hardening fully against my stomach.

"Gods!" I choked out, my head falling back.

Marian's teeth scraped along my exposed throat. "That's it," she murmured against my skin. "That's what I want to see. No more hiding, Darian."

Her finger pushed deeper, joined suddenly by a second. The stretch burned anew, making me gasp and writhe in her lap. Water spilled over the tub's edge with each movement, pooling on the marble floor.

"Tell me about Athena," she demanded, her fingers working inside me with ruthless precision.

I couldn't think. Couldn't form words. My body was betraying me, responding to her invasion with shameful eagerness. My hips moved of their own accord, rocking against her hand.

She silenced my whimpers with another deep kiss, her tongue thrusting in rhythm with her fingers. I was pinned between her mouth and her hand, helpless, overwhelmed by sensation.

"I, I don't, " I stammered.

"You don't what?" She curled her fingers inside me, finding that spot again that made my vision blur at the edges. "Don't want to tell me? Don't think I should know?"

My cock twitched like the traitor it was, between us, fully hard now despite my confusion. My hips rocked against her hand of their own accord, chasing the pleasure. Her thumb pressed against that spot behind my balls, making my entire body jerk. "Don't lie to me, Darian," she warned, her voice deceptively gentle. "I always know when someone's lying."

Her fingers twisted inside me, and I felt myself opening to her, surrendering to the intrusion that was quickly becoming something I craved rather than feared. I was panting, my mind all over the place.

"Did something happen between you and my little sister on the way here?"

I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The sensation wasn't exactly pain, but it wasn't exactly pleasure either. Overwhelming, sharp and all consuming.

"Why...? Why would you say that?"

To my relief, she pulled her fingers out.

"Did something happen between you and Athena on the way here?"

"Don't do that," I said, flinching away from her touch. "Ever. Don't just... force your way in."

She stared at me for a moment. I couldn't read her, and I can read most people. Then, unexpectedly, Marian laughed. It wasn't a cruel sound, but something genuinely amused, almost appreciative. "You're not at all what I expected, Darian Valemont," she said, her hand moving to stroke my cheek in a gesture that was tender if not for her intrusion a second ago. "Most men would be begging for more by now."

"I'm not most men."

"Noted. You and Athena. Did you two had sex?"

Shit. How do I slither my way out? "Why do you think something's going on between me and Athena? There's nothing going on. She escorted us with the Talons. That's it. I mean, she got drunk tonight and puked on both of us."

Marian sighed. "Sounds like Athena. You know what? Even if something did happen, I don't care. You're mine now. I love Athena, always have, always will, and you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen, but even you couldn't come between me and my sister."

"Wasn't trying to."

"That said, I catch you eyeballing her again, I'll chain you to my bed for a month."

"So, 'fucking whoever I want whenever I want' only applies to you, I guess."

"We can make it three months."

I closed my eyes, suddenly tired. "Marian."

"What, baby?"

"You're scaring me."

"Nothing wrong with being a little intimidated."

"Said no one ever."

She leaned in and kissed me, slowly, deliberately. Her lips were soft, but the hand gripping my thigh wasn't. "I'll never hurt you, darling," she whispered against my mouth. "I never dreamed I'd meet someone like you, let alone marry someone like you."

"That's rich. We met five minutes ago. You don't know the first thing about me."

"I'm learning," she said, her voice low and husky. Her eyes, lustful, wide with wonder, traveled over my face like I was some rare artifact unearthed just for her. "And I love everything I've seen so far." She pressed her forehead to mine, her breath warm. "We've got a lifetime to figure out the rest."

"Kay," I said.

"I'm blown away by the enthusiasm."

"It's not you, it's me. Long day, I guess. Deep down I'm thrilled about joining that little harem you're building."

"What I'm building is going to outlast us all," she said. "The Seven Duchies, united. Something bigger than its broken parts. And you could be there beside me, share in it."

I wanted to tell her to save the speeches for her other two idiot husbands. Marian didn't share. She took.

I wanted to tell her I didn't want any of it. That the first chance I got, I'd be on a ship heading for the ends of the earth.

I wanted to tell her that my heart beats like a frantic drum every time I look at Athena.

I wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful woman who ever wanted me, and that it still wasn't enough. Not anymore.

But most of all, I wanted her to stop talking.

So I lunged forward, capturing her lips with mine. The warm bathwater sloshed around us as I pressed against her, my arms locking around her neck in a kiss that rocked us both. Her surprised gasp vibrated against my mouth, a tiny sound that disappeared as she melted into me.

She answered like I'd struck a match to dry tinder, instant, fiery. The heat of her mouth shot straight through me, making my skin prickle despite the warm water. Her hands found my waist, fingers pressing into my flesh, pulling me harder against her. Her cock pressed against my ass, hard and insistent.

Then I slowed, remembering how Athena had taught me. I caught Marian's bottom lip between mine, gentle and unhurried, then let it go with a soft, wet sound. Her breath hitched, a tiny shudder running through her body.

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" she whispered, her voice a little husky.

I didn't answer. Instead, I tilted my head and went in again, this time letting my tongue trace the seam of her lips. She opened for me immediately, eager, demanding. The taste of her, wine and probably the domination mixed with ambition. I explored her mouth slowly, deliberately, the way Athena had shown me. My tongue stroked against hers, retreated, then returned, setting a rhythm that made Marian's fingers flex against my skin.

My hands moved to cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. Her skin was soft, flushed with heat. Her green eyes had darkened. For a moment, just a moment, I felt powerful. I, Darian Valemont, the Northern Rose, had the future Duchess of Thornmarch trembling beneath my touch.

She made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat, a sound I'd never expected to hear from someone like her. Her hand found the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my wet hair, possessive. Drawing me in for another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier.

"Darian," she breathed against my lips, not a command. A plea.

I answered by trailing kisses along her jaw, down the elegant column of her throat. She tasted of salt and jasmine soap, her skin warm, wet and alive against my mouth. When I reached the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, I hesitated, then gently scraped my teeth against it.

Not Lilith, frantic and cruel.

Not Athena, honest desperate passion.

Like a power play. Take. Push. Give ground. Charge. Conquer.

Her hands slid down my back, cupping my ass, pulling me closer until I was fully seated in her lap, her hardness pressing insistently against me. The sensation made me gasp.

"Wow," she whispered. "Who would have-"

Before she could speak, I leaned in again, silencing whatever she might have said with another kiss.

This time, I let myself get lost in it, in the slick heat of her mouth. Her hands roamed my body like she was memorizing it for a sketch. I savored the soft sounds she made when I did something she particularly liked. I filed away each reaction, building a catalog of Marian's desires.

She pulled back, breaking our kiss with a soft, wet sound. Marian wasn't one to surrender control for long. Her jaw tightened, nostrils flaring slightly as she took a deep breath.

Her hand reached for the jar of olive oil soap. I heard the soft scrape of her fingers against the container, then the slick, wet sounds of her coating herself. One stroke, two strokes, three, frantic, impatient movements that made tiny ripples across the bathwater's surface.

Her eyes never left mine.

"Come here," she said, both hands suddenly gripping my ass cheeks. Her fingers dug into my flesh, kneading, spreading me open beneath the water.

She lifted me, water cascading down my thighs. I felt exposed, vulnerable, my body suspended above her lap. For a moment, I hovered there, heart pounding. Her cock brushed against me, hot and slick with oil, but missed its target.

"Fuck," she growled, frustration tightening her features.

She adjusted her grip, fingers sinking deeper into my flesh, and lifted me again. This time, I felt the blunt head of her cock pressing directly against my entrance. She was hot, insistent and impossibly large.

"Look at me," she commanded.

I did. Her green eyes bore into mine, hungry and possessive. She wanted to watch my face as she claimed me. Felix had a point. She looked like a vengeful goddess when she was in lust.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, she pulled me down onto her cock.

The pressure built, intense and burning, almost impossible. My body resisted, clenching against the intrusion. I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers clasping her shoulders.

"Relax," she murmured, one hand leaving my ass to stroke my cheek. Her thumb traced my lower lip, surprisingly gentle. "Breathe."

I exhaled shakily, trying to force my muscles to yield. The head of her cock pushed harder, stretching me. The burn intensified, somewhere on the the edge of pleasure corner of pain street.

"That's it," she coaxed, her voice a silky purr. "Open for me."

My body finally decided that enough is enough. The head of her cock tore through the elastic door to my bum with a sudden pop that made us both gasp. The sensation was overwhelming, fullness, pressure. Not a foreigner feeling anymore. Almost a friend. My eyes widened, mouth falling open in a silent 'oh' as she penetrated me.

"You feel so fucking good," she huffed, her breath hot against my face. "I knew you would."

Water lapped around us as she continued to lower me onto her shaft, inch by slow wonderful inch. The bathwater provided a strange, floating sensation that somehow made the penetration both easier and more intense. My body trembled, adjusting to her size, hugging her shaft like a lover.

Her gaze never wavered, drinking in every flicker of emotion across my face, the pain, the surprise, the reluctant pleasure building beneath it all. Her own expression was unfiltered desire, lips parted, cheeks flushed pink, sweat forming on her brow despite the water.

"Put your legs around me," she ordered, her voice strained with the effort of restraint.

I'm a good obedient boy, so I wrapped my thighs around her waist. The change in angle drove her deeper, making me cry out. There was very little pain, the expected pleasure consumed it.

"Perfect," she breathed, both hands returning to my hips.

She held me there for a moment, impaled on her cock, our bodies joined in the most intimate way possible. I could feel her pulse inside me, her heartbeat transmitted through her shaft, throbbing against my inner walls. My own cock lay hard and neglected between us, twitching with each small movement.

Marian leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine again. For a moment, we just breathed together, her chest rising and falling against mine, her breasts soft against my skin. Then she rolled her hips, a small, experimental thrust that sent sparks shooting up my spine.

"Oh gods," I gasped, my nails biting into her skin.

"Look down," she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Look at us."

I glanced down through the clear water. The sight was obscene and mesmerizing, her long, thick shaft disappearing into my body, stretching me wide around its girth. The water magnified everything, making it seem even more impossible.

"All mine," she murmured, lifting me slightly before pulling me back down. "So tight, so soft. It's like you're made of velvet, Darian, inside and out."

Water spilled over the tub's edge with every movement, slapping softly against the floor. Her hands guided me, teaching my body her rhythm. Up, then down. Retreat, then surrender. Each stroke sent jolts of sensation radiating through me, most of the pain giving way to the pleasure.

Her hands moved from my hips to my face, cradling my cheeks with surprising tenderness. The contrast between the gentle touch above and the relentless invasion below made my head spin. Water dripped from her fingers onto my lips.

"Kiss me," she demanded, already pulling my face toward hers.

Our lips met as she thrust up harder, driving deeper inside me. I moaned into her mouth, overwhelmed by the dual sensation. Her tongue pushed past my lips in perfect time with her cock pushing deeper into my body, claiming me completely.

If this was a battle of control, I didn't lose it. Yet. I started riding her slowly, rising and falling on her lap, taking charge of our rhythm. The water made everything slick, creating a weightlessness that let me move with unexpected confidence. I braced my hands on her shoulders and lifted myself until just the head of her cock remained inside me, hovering there, teasing.

Marian's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. A point for Darian. The future Duchess, was staring up at me with something like wonder.

"What are you, " she began, but I sank down on her again, deliberately slow, taking her inch by inch while maintaining eye contact.

Her words dissolved into a moan. Her head fell back, her elegant throat stretched for me to devour.

"Gods," she gasped, fingers digging into my thighs. "Darian..."

Again that intoxicating feeling, a strange new power I discovered only recently. "The Seven Duchies, united?" I asked, mimicking her earlier tone while I clenched around her, squeezing her cock with my inner muscles.

Her entire body jerked. The water sloshed around us, making the bathtub look like a tide pool caught in a storm. Marian's mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes rolling back for just a moment before fixing on me again with renewed intensity.

"Don't stop," she commanded, but her voice had lost its edge. It was closer to begging now.

I leaned forward, changing the angle so her cock pressed against that spot inside me that made sparks in my tummy fly. The pleasure was sharp, electric. My own cock throbbed.

"Like this?" I asked, rotating my hips in a slow circle while keeping her deep inside me.

"Fuck," she hissed, her hands flying up to grip my waist, trying to take back control. She attempted to lift me, to set her own pace, but I resisted, planting my knees firmly against the sides of the tub.

"No," I said simply. Her eyes widened again. I doubted anyone had ever said that word to her, whether in bed or out of it.

Her fingers trembled against my skin. She was breathing hard now, chest heaving, those perfect breasts rising and falling with each desperate intake of air. Her nipples were hard, dark peaks begging for attention.

I leaned down and took one in my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder as she arched into me. The taste of her skin, clean from the bath but with an underlying saltiness, filled my senses. I swirled my tongue around the stiff peak, then grazed it lightly with my teeth.

"Gods, you're..."

I sucked harder, using my tongue to flick the sensitive tip while I continued to ride her with deliberate, maddening slowness. Her other hand slid around to grip my ass, fingers clutching hard as she tried again to quicken the pace.

I lifted my head from her breast, meeting her gaze. "No!"

A flash of irritation crossed her features, quickly replaced by something else as I clenched around her again, squeezing her cock in rhythmic pulses that made her whole body shudder.

"How the fuck...?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

I didn't answer. Instead, I leaned in and kissed her deeply, my tongue sliding against hers in the same rhythm as our bodies. She melted into the kiss, surrendering almost. Her hands moved to frame my face, fingers trembling against my cheeks.

When I pulled back, her eyes were glazed, her lips swollen and red. She was beautiful, almost undone.

I shifted my weight, changing the angle again, and began to move faster. The sound of our breathing, harsh and quick, echoed around the chamber.

Marian's control was slipping further with each rise of my body. "I'm close," she gasped, her voice barely recognizable. "So close."

I reached between us, my fingers finding the slick folds of her sex beneath her cock. She was soaking wet, her clit swollen and hard beneath my touch. I circled it gently, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Oh gods," she cried, her back arching sharply. "There, right there!"

I pressed harder, rubbing in tight circles while continuing to ride her cock. Her entire body went rigid, trembling on the edge of release. I could feel her cock pulsing inside me, growing impossibly harder.

She shattered.

There's no other word for it. Her body convulsed beneath mine, her cock jerking inside me as she came. At the same time, her clit pulsed against my fingers, a double release that tore a scream from her throat. Her hands clutched at me wildly, nails digging into my skin as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.

I held her through it, steady and controlled, drawing out her orgasm until she was trembling, whimpering, oversensitive, and utterly undone.

"That's it," I whispered. "That's it. How did you put it earlier? Breathe. Just breathe."

"Who the fuck are you?" she gasped.

Back in the North, when they say my name, they mean weakling. Too pretty to ever be a real man. But here, here it meant something else entirely. "I'm the Northern Rose," I said, pride burning in my chest. "That's who I am. The fucking Northern Rose."

======

Marian retrieved a towel the size of a small sail, thick, plush, absurdly luxurious.

"Stay still," she said. Her voice had lost its edge. Softer now. Almost tender.

I stood there, dripping onto her expensive looking rugs, feeling strangely vulnerable despite everything we'd just done in the bath. Water slid down my back, tracing my spine, curving over my ass, slipping between my thighs.

She started with my hair, wrapping the towel around my head and squeezing with slow, practiced care. Her movements were methodical, precise, like I was some priceless vase looted from the heart of the Empire. She lay me on the bed, naked and proceeded to dry me lovingly. Every bit of me from my hair, between my legs and to the soles of my naked feet.

"You're..." she started the sighed.

"Not what you expected."

She unwrapped my hair and moved the towel to my shoulders, then down my arms. The fabric was soft against my skin. Must be southern cotton, not the scratchy northern wool I was used to. Another luxury.

"Turn around," she said.

I did. Her eyes roamed over me, taking inventory of what she now considered hers. The towel followed her gaze, trailing across my chest in slow, deliberate strokes. When she reached my nipples, she lingered, circling each one through the fabric until they stiffened under her touch.

I reached between her legs, she was already hardening again. "Control yourself, future wife."

"Can't around you."

"I know."

She slapped me with the towel. "I was being sarcastic, dummy."

"Me too."

We both laughed, sharing a moment.

There was a knock on the door.

"Unless the Empire's warships just landed, this can wait until tomorrow," Marian shouted.

"No, it can't," came the reply.

Marian groaned, threw on her robe, and opened the door to reveal Hadil. The brown-skinned general took one look at the room, at me naked on the bed, and smirked.

"Well?" Marian asked, tying her robe. "What's so urgent, or are you just jealous and want to join?"

Hadil bit her lower lip. "I wouldn't mind taking a bite out of that," she said, nodding toward the bed. "But not today. Rakan's having a meltdown."

"Do I look like a fucking nanny?" Marian snapped.

"No, seriously. After you pulled that stunt with the sweets, he's been muttering to himself nonstop. He does that sometimes. He never thought he'd have to share you with someone like Darian. Now he wants to use the semaphore tower to send a message to his father first thing in the morning. He wants his father to reconsider."

"He reached that conclusion just by arguing with himself?"

Hadil nodded.

"Maybe he should pick smarter conversation partners. That's your job, Hadil. I can't babysit the idiot full-time."

"He's not listening, Marian. There's a lot of bad blood between Halem Azin and Edgar Valemont. This marriage was already a hard sell. Add Rakan's tantrum and it could unravel everything. Do you really want to risk blowing it all up?"

Marian let out a long sigh.

"I need you to come smooth things over. Maybe give him a little taste of what you gave Rose Boy tonight. Darian's practically glowing. Actually, so are you. Was he that good?"

"Better," Marian said.

Hadil blew me an air kiss.

I flipped her off.

Marian sighed again. "Fine. This won't take long." She turned to me. "Don't move. Stay right where you are. I'm not finished with you yet."

======

Of course I didn't stay.

Marian was so used to people obeying her every word, she didn't bother locking the door or telling the guards I wasn't to leave. They were stationed to keep people out, not to stop anyone from slipping away. Honestly, I just wanted to walk off the heat Marian left in my blood.

The castle corridors were quiet this late, echoing with my future.

The farther I walked, the lonelier I felt. That familiar sense of not belonging crept back in, an outsider's ache I'd carried since my mother died. I didn't belong in the North, and I could kid myself that my looks gave me some special status among the futanari girls in the South, but I didn't belong here either.

Marian liked me. But I was a tool, useful for her wants, her ambitions. Maybe, just maybe, it could grow into something deeper?

I didn't know if I had that in me. And if I was being honest, I wasn't sure she did either. Her dream of uniting the Seven Duchies wasn't my dream.

Athena. There was Athena.

The girl who'd planted herself in my thoughts and wouldn't leave, no matter how hard I tried, or maybe because I tried.

But it was one-sided. I was sure she hadn't thought about me once since we woke up this morning. Not even for a second.

I wanted... What the fuck did I want? A week ago, if you'd asked, I'd have said I wanted to take Cirelle and vanish into the sunset. Now...?

Stick to the plan. Always stick to the plan, Darian, and you can't go wrong.

So I went back to the lonely eastern tower, more foreboding in the dark than I remembered. I took one of the oil lamps lighting the garden paths and climbed the sixty-two narrow steps to the top floor.

The empty room was just as it had been that morning, disappointingly empty. But there had to be a way to the room above. I pressed every inch of the stone walls, expecting a hidden lever, a latch, anything. I ran my hands across the cold surface twice. Nothing. What was I missing?

I sat down on the floor, letting the oil lamp cast long shadows. Scratched my head. Scratched my butt. Thought of Marian returning to an empty room which made me feel better because I wasn't her puppy.

I lay on the mosaic floor, staring at the ceiling. Then it hit me.

We had a "find the difference" book in our library back home. Thomas would stare at those pictures for hours. I'd walk in, spot ten differences in three seconds, and feel vindictively genius, right up until he threw the book at me. That was usually followed by, "Well, I had it coming," and then him beating the crap out of me.

My brain just works differently.

The mosaic wasn't grand or ostentatious, just a ring of tiles shaped like ivy coils, abstract, nothing floral. But the pattern repeated itself every seven tiles. Clockwork regularity... until the fourteenth tile. That one had a curl facing left instead of right. Off by a hair. Most wouldn't see it.

I got to my knees, traced the edge of the odd tile. No give. I pressed it.

Click.

The room groaned, soft, ancient, almost reluctant. One wall shuddered and slid outward an inch, cold air rushing in. I approached and found a narrow, vertical opening. Just wide enough to squeeze through. Beyond it: a black drop and carved handholds, hidden among the stonework like part of the tower's original bones. Barely visible in daylight, completely invisible by torch.

Oh boy.

I had to leave the lamp behind. I needed both hands to climb. Slowly. Sixty-two steps to fall. It wasn't hard, just scary.

There was a window at the top, which I used to climb into a darkened room, and immediately found myself on the floor with a dagger pressed to my neck.

"Wait, Lilith, it's me. Don't kill me. If you kill me, that'd really hurt my feelings."

A few curses in the dark, then a match flared and an oil lamp lit.

Lilith stood naked. All her scars, all her cruel tattoos, she hadn't been expecting visitors. "Lord, Bunny? What the fuck?"

"Hi," I said.

Her slanted blue eyes were dangerously pissed off, but she lowered the dagger. "How the hell did you get up here?"

"Imagination. Deduction. Dedication. A little bit of luck."

She pushed me back against the wall, scanning me from head to toe. "I almost took your head off, you idiot."

"Would've ruined the mood. How come you're not sleeping in the Hands' quarters?"

"None of your fucking business." She didn't bother covering herself. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"We had a deal, Lilith."

"You're a stubborn bastard, I'll give you that."

"You said you always deliver."

"I never go back on a promise." She nodded. "Two people. Port Griffin to the Empire. Discreet cabin. No questions asked. Still want it? Even after seeing what you've signed up for here?"

"Maybe because I saw." I folded my arms across my chest in what I hoped looked like a rebuking gesture.

"What? I don't have a ship in my pocket. It'll take a week to arrange. I need a smuggler who can keep his mouth shut. I'm taking a risk, you're not some nobody. A lot of people would lose their shit if you just vanished."

"Okay."

"Now fuck off."

"Okay."

She nodded toward the window. "You tell anyone about the mosaic, I'll send you across the sea in a coffin."

"Okay," I said again, like an idiot.

"Off you fuck."

"Can I stay here for the night?"

"What? No! What?" Had I sprouted wings and tits and become a real fae, she wouldn't have looked more shocked. "What? Why would you...?"

I shrugged. "Can I?"

"What for?"

I took my torn shirt off. "To sleep." I sat on her bed.

"What? Why?"

I took off my shoes next. "I want to."

"That's my bed."

"Yeah, that's the point."

Lilith froze, mouth slightly open, blue eyes widening. She looked like I'd just suggested we fly to the moon on the back of a griffin. The feared assassin, the woman who probably had a kill count higher than my age, stood there naked and completely disarmed by the simple idea of sharing her bed. Everyone else tiptoed around her like she might snap their necks for breathing wrong. But right now? She looked almost... comically vulnerable. Human.

I stood, closed the distance between us, and wrapped my arms around her. Her skin was warm against mine. I pressed a kiss to her lips, nothing demanding, just a brush of warmth.

She didn't move. Didn't breathe. Like someone had turned her into a statue.

Then she blinked, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You're gonna ask for another favor, aren't you? I'm not some wishing well, you idiot."

"Nope!" I stripped the rest of the way and curled up naked under the wool blanket. "Well, actually, I do have a request. Can you hold me like you did that night at the inn?"

"You're a fucking oddball with... Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Ahh... no. I just know people are really afraid of you."

She stared at me for a long moment, then finally moved toward the bed. Her steps were slow and cautious, like she was approaching a trap. The mattress dipped under her weight. She reached over and covered the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, broken only by a silver sliver of moonlight through the window.

I felt her hesitate, then slowly, so slowly, she slid under the covers. Her body radiated heat like a forge. She kept a careful distance, like she was afraid I might turn to fairy dust if she touched me. "Yeah, people are scared of me," she said. "The smart ones."

"I'm not afraid of you. Not a lot."

"Because you're a fucking idiot."

"Yeah. "

A soft exhale, almost a sigh. Then she moved, her body curving around mine from behind. Her breath tickled the nape of my neck, warm and slightly uneven. I could feel her heartbeat against my back. Her small, firm breasts pressed to my shoulder blades, nipples hardening at the contact. She was all lean muscle and sharp angles. And it felt right. Familiar. One arm draped awkwardly over my waist, not quite holding me, more like she'd forgotten where to put it.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice unusually soft in the dark.

"Mmm," I hummed, reaching for her hand and pulling it more firmly around me. "Exactly like this."

Something pressed against the small of my back. Soft at first, then slowly hardening as our bodies settled.

She tensed when she realized I could feel it, but I just nestled closer, letting her know it was okay.

Her hand, the one I'd pulled around me, twitched against my stomach, fingers splaying across my skin, brushing my navel. She cradled me with an unexpected gentleness.

Then, softly:

"What's going on? What's wrong, Darian?"

No edge. No sarcasm. Just a real question.

Yeah, she was a hardened assassin who didn't give a shit, or at least that's the story she told everyone, herself included. But she was the first person today who saw me. Actually saw me. And gave a damn.

I almost burst into tears.

What's wrong? "Everything. Everything is wrong. Always. Pretty much everything is full of shit."

"You know, a few minutes' walk from here, there are kids begging in the street. You're a Duke's son."

"I wish I wasn't."

"And you came to me? Of all the people you could've chosen, you came to me?"

"I don't have anyone, Lilith. And I came to you because you're not full of shit like the rest of them.

You don't say one thing and mean another. I like you."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"I get that a lot, and I do like you."

"Sure."

Instead of arguing, I decided on a more direct approach. I spat into my palm, the saliva pooling warm.

Without hesitation, I reached between my legs, finding her hardening shaft.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice was low, almost a growl, but she didn't pull away. Her breath was warm against my ear.

I worked my hand along her length, coating her with my makeshift lubricant. "You're free to say no at any time," I whispered. "I won't force myself on you. "

Her answer came in the form of teeth against my shoulder, not quite a bite. A tease. The sharp pressure sent a jolt through me.

"I want you, Lilith," I said.

"Will you stop with the..."

"With what?"

"I dunno. Just... stop talking."

I spat into my palm again, working more moisture along her shaft. Despite her slim build, Lilith was impressively endowed, longer than Marian, thicker than Athena. Her cock pulsed in my hand, veins like snakes beneath my fingers as I stroked her from base to tip.

"You're insane," she breathed hard on my neck, enjoying my hand. "There is simply somethin wrong with you."

"Is that like a 'Stop, Darian!', you want me to stop?"

"Yes," she hissed, but her hips betrayed her, pushing subtly into my touch.

I laughed, triumphant. Then guided her cock between my legs, positioning the broad head against my starfish. My body was still tender from earlier with Marian, but somehow that added to the anticipation. I pressed back slowly, feeling the pressure build as the tip breached me.

My body yielded more easily this time, as if recognizing the intrusion as something welcome rather than foreign. The initial resistance gave way to a slow, burning stretch as I worked her inside me inch by careful inch.

"Fuck!" she hissed.

"Exactly," I said.

I pushed back further, taking more of her inside me. My body seemed to know what it wanted now, opening for her, drawing her deeper. My rim stretched around her girth, clamping down once the widest part passed, pulling her in like it loved her.

Lilith's entire body shuddered. A soft, vulnerable sigh escaped her lips.

It made me giggle.

"I saw you at dinner tonight. Dancing," she said, pushing herself deep.

"I didn't see you."

"Yeah."

I guess that was the point of being an assassin, people didn't see you coming.

"Every girl had their eyes on you, Darian."

"Were your eyes on me as well?"

She groaned, a sound so raw and unguarded it made my chest ache. Her arm tightened around me, pulling me flush against her body as she began to move in slow, deliberate thrusts.

I arched my back, pushing against her, meeting each thrust with a backward roll of my hips. The friction was amazing, her cock stretching me in ways that made my toes dance and my breath go wild. Each time she buried herself to the hilt, I felt impossibly hers. Full to the gills. Giddy with lust.

"Gods," I gasped, "you feel so good."

Her rhythm intensified, each thrust harder than the last. Desperate. The bed creaked beneath us, a steady, sensual rhythm that matched our movements. Her cock dragged against that spot inside me that turned me inside out and made me forget all the confusing and bad things in my life.

I turned my head, seeking her.

Her mouth found mine in an awkward, hungry kiss. Our position made it messy, all clashing teeth and desperate tongues. I didn't care. I twisted further, chasing her lips, needing the connection almost as much as I needed the relentless rhythm of her cock inside me.

Her free hand, the one not tangled in my hair, slid down my stomach, fingers tracing the line of muscle searching my cock.

But before she even could find it, I erupted. Pleasure crashed through me in waves, each one stronger than the last. My release spilled my stomach, hot and thick, as my body clenched rhythmically around her cock.

Lilith followed me over the edge with a curse. Her hips stuttered, then drove deep one final time as she came, filling me with hot liquid. I could feel her cock pulsing inside me, each throb sending aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitive body.

For a long moment, we stayed frozen like that, connected. Both of us breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. Then, slowly, she relaxed her grip on my hair, her hand sliding down to rest against my thundering heart.

"Little bunny," she said. But it wasn't an insult it was something else.

======

Light filtered through the window. I opened my eyes. She was still there.

Lilith lay behind me, one arm wrapped around my stomach like I might disappear if she let go. Her breath warmed the back of my neck. She hadn't vanished this time.

Then I opened my eyes, and registered the room in the morning light. It was clean. Not lived-in, exactly. More... maintained. Practical. No drapes. No perfume. No paintings. One desk. One chair. One bed. Clean. Bare. Lived in like a soldier's tent, not a home.

Two swords leaned against the wall, several daggers beside it. Her boots under the bed, armor folded in the corner, everything sharp and functional.

No softness. No lies.

And then I saw it.

Tucked in the corner between the bed and the wall, half-shadowed by the early sun, sat a small leather satchel. Stitched with gold thread, braided with sigils.

I can draw a steam engine from memory, down to the tiniest part in its exact position. My brain is both a curse and a blessing, it forces me to imprint every detail, and it never forgets.

And I knew exactly what that satchel was, because I'd seen it before. In a room that smelled of silk, and smoke, and opium. On Corina's desk, buried under fans, scrolls, and half-empty wine bottles.

The memory hit like a slap.

That room on the riverboat.

The boy with the tattoo.

Corina Talvek smiling in nothing but silk.

And the satchels, braided in gold, fat with messages and Empire secrets.

One of them was here. In Lilith's room.

I stared at it, my mind snapping fully awake. My skin turned cold. Every thread of ease or warmth from the night before vanished in an instant.

Lilith wasn't just part of the game. She was playing for someone else.

What else was she hiding? Was she one of Corina's spies? The Empire's agent in Isolde's court? Was she working for both?

I knew I shouldn't. I was terrified of what might happen if I got caught.

But I couldn't help it.

My hand moved on its own, slow and careful, terrified of waking her. My fingers found the buckle. Painfully slow, I unfastened it. I was prepared for anything inside.

Empire poison. A dagger. A sealed order. A coded message I'd memorize to decode later. I was ready for any of it.

Except what I found. A simple cloth wrapped around a lock of hair. Tied in a golden ribbon.

Blonde. Soft. Innocent-looking.

A child's hair.

======

To be continued.