Page 72 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

Not that I will be allowed to partake in any of that particular type of entertainment. Arcus has made that gruelingly clear.

“We’ll come back,” he promises. “I wouldn’t abandon my own celebration. But I have a gift for you, as well.”

A bejeweled chastity belt? I think to myself with a mean little giggle that Arcus interprets as a laugh meant for him. He beams down at me and waves a hand.

We are no longer on the dais, but in a blindingly white room that makes me shield my eyes from the light. Pure white flame flickers in sconces on the walls, between mirrors that stretch from the white granite floors to the swirling ornamentations on the ceiling overhead. In the center of the room is an enormous, round bed, made up all in white, beneath a skylight shaped like a many-pointed star. The dark sky overhead is the only color, aside from that of our reflections, reproduced hundreds of times in endless tunnels as the mirrors look into each other.

I turn to Arcus in exaggerated wonder. “This is my room?”

“Your own private sanctuary.” He nods beyond the bed; a large, empty basin in the shape of a crescent moon curves around it, with steps to descend inside. “That will be filled with water from the very faery bath where I fell in love with you.”

It would be grand and romantic if I did not loathe him so.

There is a knock, and Arcus calls, “Enter,” rubbing his hands together. “And now, the gift.”

A sylph enters, carrying a mirrored box tied with an enormous white bow, and stops before me.

Arcus gives me a sly look and nods.

I pull the ribbon with a giddy laugh, preparing to ooh! and aah! over the jewels inside. But when the ribbon releases, the sides of the box fall open to reveal something that kills the smile on my face.

Cadwyn Thrace’s head.

“I hope you like it,” Arcus says, self-congratulatory pride dripping from each word like a rancid syrup.

I am numb. I am faint. I am furious and grief-stricken all at once. My beautiful revenge has been snatched from me. The only thing I sought when I entered into my bargain with Luthian has been stolen by this disgusting worm of a faery who watches proudly while my dreams are shattered.

The effort it takes to force down my disappointed tears exhausts me. How I manage to pretend that I’m grateful, I cannot fathom. I turn to Arcus and fall to my knees before him, bowing my head. “I do not deserve you, Arcus. You are more to me than I could ever possibly dream. There is no way I can repay you for the honors you’ve bestowed upon me.”

“You needn’t repay me.” He places a hand on the back of my head, chuckling, and one hand works the laces of his breeches. “But if you wished to thank me…”

I smile up at him, feeling nothing but cold emptiness beneath my skin. “Of course, my beloved king.”

This time, when he takes me, I cannot escape into my fantasy of vengeance, because he has destroyed it.

And he has destroyed me with it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The celebrations show no sign of slowing when we return to them. The only difference between when we left and when we return is my sorrow and anger.

As I am not allowed to engage in any of the sexual entertainment, I lay at Arcus’s side on a mound of pillows while he is fellated and ridden by a dozen courtiers, at least. I ply him with faery wine and bites of desserts, compliment his prowess and press his face to my cleavage.

All without the comfort of my promised prize.

It’s harder now to pretend to love him, to desire him, to admire him. The effort should be an impossible task, but I somehow find it in myself to smile and kiss him and stroke his cock between partners.

Luthian passes through the crowd, and without thinking, I turn desperate eyes to him. He pays no attention to us and snags the hand of a pretty young male faery with pale, silky hair, to lead him out the open doors into the garden.

The faery atop Arcus now cries out in crudely feigned passion, her breasts bouncing as the king pounds into her from below. He gives her a push, saying, “Off! I’m about to spend. I would do it in my queen.”

Lifting my skirts, I crouch over him, feel the slick wet that the faery left behind. I slide down Arcus’s cock and breathe, “Oh yes, my king. Yes, like that!” as I clutch on him.

He reaches up with both hands to grab my breasts while I ride him, and it takes only a few slow glides of my hips to make him curl up, groaning as if mortally wounded. His cock twitches and leaps inside me as he comes, and it takes all of my will power to pretend I enjoy it.

That will is quickly wearing down.

To my relief, Arcus’s eyelids grow heavy from the wine and the fucking, and soon he wavers between consciousness and sleep even as he softens and falls from my cunt on a wet slide.

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