Page 93 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

Nohel continued to chuckle. “Did you see how the princes looked at her? It’s a wonder they haven’t already asked for her hand in marriage. The only reason they agreed to go around the chasm was likely to get rid of you so they could make their move.”

Cormac stopped swimming.

Nohel’s eyes widened as he realized what he had said. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to speak ill of the other princes.”

Cormac shook his head to clear it. “You think the other princes mean to court Maeve?” His lips were numb, and his words slow to form.

Nohel shifted, his tail swishing. The guard winced under his king’s scrutiny.

Cormac crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a disgruntled chuff. “That’s preposterous.”

Nohel’s lips tightened.

Cormac narrowed his eyes and swam closer to his guard. “You know something,” he accused.

The guard glanced away before the rest of their party slowed and turned to the two mermen that had fallen behind.

“Out with it,” Cormac growled, embodying his father as he commanded the guard to speak. He rarely used his ‘king’s voice,’ but if there was something that he needed to know about Maeve, then he had little patience for games.

“Well, Your Majesty….” Nohel adjusted his shoulders. “Everyone knows about the mad queen’s prophecy.”

Cormac arched a brow. “The mad queen, by all accounts, was quite mad.”

“Well, yes,” Nohel stammered, “but her last words were circulated through the kingdom.”

Cormac thought for a moment. “When the five creeds meet over the divide of war, only then shall the lake know peace.” His mouth formed the familiar words, and his memory cast him right back to the first time he had spoken them. Years before, in the undine castle, on the night that his father had been killed. The lake had not been at war then, but somehow, the mad queen must have known that it would be—and that only by the five creeds coming together could the war end.

Which was, by and large, fairly obvious.

“Those words were nothing but the mutterings of a dying woman.” Cormac rolled his eyes and turned away. “The mad queen could not withstand the heart of the lake, and her weakness opened the door for the turmoil we are still fighting today.”

“You could end it, you know,” Nohel said in a small voice. “You could end the war between Tarsainn and Cruinn; you’re the king.”

“Belisama’s balls,could I end the war,” Cormac snarled. “You think that the fae that lost their friends and family to the front line will smile and bow when I simply declare that we will forgive the undine and lay down arms. The undine will never surrender, and I will not allow the merfolk to live under the webbed foot of some gilded ninnies.”

Nohel said nothing before nodding staunchly as if agreeing with his every word.

Cormac relaxed and held out his hand. He did not apologise for his outburst, as he was both fae and royal. Cormac gripped his guard’s arm and clasped it for a moment, showing that he enjoyed the sport of their conversation, though he had lost himself in it.

Instead of relaxing, Nohel froze in his grip, his entire body rigid before his eyes rolled back in his skull. Cormac’s grip on his arm was the only thing keeping the guard upright. Cormac called Nohel’s name, but he didn’t respond.

Cormac looked up frantically, and it wasn’t until that moment that he realized he was alone. The other guards ahead had disappeared. Something stirred the sand below their tails, disturbing the silt and forming a cloud to blind them.

Something wrapped around his neck before the darkness swallowed him.

Cormac wasn’t sure how long he was asleep or when he had become aware of that fact, but he was quite content to remain in his fantasy for a bit longer.

Tarsainn Castle, though filled to the brim with courtiers and royalty, was a dark and stuffy place. Save for the harem, the wine, and the endless balls to celebrate little victories that often meant nothing.

Cormac’s mind conjured one of the memories his juvenile self had locked away for private moments between his cock and his hand—the first time his father had allowed him to visit the pleasure chambers. Though his father’s harem had sat empty after his death, Cormac had vivid memories of the place from his youth. The dream thrust him into a gaggle of women with large breasts, legs and tails for days, and wine without limit.

Cormac watched it all from the throne at the edge of the room as the rolling mass of bodies took pleasure in each other, and his wine cup never emptied.

He didn’t know how long he sat on that throne, watching the women fuck, tongue, and touch each other, but it felt empty after the first few hours. Nothing was tantalizing about the same detached dance of bodies. Even if the women were beautiful—though when he tried to look at their faces, his mind couldn’t quite grasp their features.

Whenever he tried to remember how he had gotten to the harem, his neck began to itch. When he went to scratch it, the scene started anew, though he couldn’t remember falling asleep and waking up.

Cormac thought that he would lose his mind, surrounded by orgasming women, and unable to leave his throne.

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