Page 86 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

It’s vengeance.

And I have escaped him.

I come so hard, I see stars in a sudden blackness behind my eyes, a blackness the color of Arcus’s air-deprived face. I cry out, riding the last waves of my pleasure.

When I open my eyes again, the king is dead.

And I am free.

The door bursts open and my hope plummets. I am caught. They will put me in chains. They will do worse to me than feed me to a cephalopire. I imagine hot tongs searing my flesh, consider screaming and pretending that I don’t know what’s happened.

But it isn’t the guards.

It’s Kathras.

He walks slowly to the bed, looks down with disinterest upon the face of the now dead king and me, still astride his twitching cock.

“Get up,” he says, and offers me his hand.

My entire body shakes. I’m drunk on the pleasure of my climax, but drunker still on the knowledge that I have killed. A laugh burbles from my throat. “March me to my execution. I don’t care. I’m glad he’s dead.”

Kathras shrugs. “I’m glad he’s dead, too. As I am king now, you have no fear of execution.”

I look down at the mess of his deceased father, who is rapidly melting into a disgusting puddle of black goo.

“Was it iron, then?” he asks. “It looks like it was iron.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But perhaps you shouldn’t touch me. Or the honey pot.”

He spies the spilled jar and nods. “We’ll leave it there. I’ll sprinkle some fruit around him, maybe smash a plate. You won’t be implicated.”

“You’re not angry with me?” I ask.

“It was him or me,” he says flatly. “It was always him or me. I believe that’s true of any faery king and his heir.”

“Your father saw his death reflected in you,” I muse.

“When he should have seen it in you.” Kathras narrows his eyes. “I am not so deluded by my own grandiosity that I will be an equally easy target.”

He knows, then, that he is part of Luthian’s plan. Kathras could kill me on the spot—it would be the intelligent thing to do—but while his thinking isn’t clouded by ego, he is certainly not clear-headed in his feelings for me.

“I do not wish to kill you,” I tell him, and I mean it sincerely. “My quarrel was with your father.”

“Wasn’t everyone’s?” he chuckles darkly. “This is your kill, Cenere. But it is Luthian’s revenge.”

I say nothing.

“Go. Bathe and dress and stay in your chambers. Speak to no one. When you hear of my father’s death, it will come as a shock to you. You’ll be overcome with grief,” he instructs. “If the inquisitors wish to speak with you, I’ll warn you in advance.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and leave him to stand over the faintly burbling mess of the former king.

* * * *

By nightfall, Kathras has been jailed by the inquisitors.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Luthian!” I storm into the dark, cold great hall of his house, screaming the walls down. “Luthian! Don’t ignore me!”

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