Page 29 of Crownless King

“Fuck them in the ass.” King Tiane shrugged. “It’s even better. Tighter.”

The queen gave her spouse a disgusted look, then produced a scroll from the wide sleeve of her silver dress.

“Here.” She handed it to Voron.

“What’s this?”

“The promise. Read it as it is, word for word.”

Voron opened the scroll. It contained but one sentence, clear and concise, with no way out.

“You’re giving me no choice.”

“Of course there is a choice,” the queen objected. “You can go right back to where you came from. Stay here in Vensari and lead a quiet country life. Or even better, climb back into whatever hole you were down in the Below.”

He glared at her, the muscles in his jaw moving. He swallowed hard, running his eyes along the words written in the scroll, then blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I’ll never have a child.”

The queen scoffed. “Since when is it important to you?”

“Many of the army tent whores aren’t highborn,” King Tiane dismissed. “You can’t breed them, anyway.”

Voron waved the scroll in front of the royals. “But this doesn’t limit my promise only to highborn. You want me to give up sex with all fae, here or Below.”

“Right.” The queen nodded. “It’s best to keep it simple. You promised to obey us, but we wished for this to be your choice, Voron. We’re not going to order you.”

But they could. They could give him a direct order, and because of the other promises he’d already given them, he would have no choice but to obey.

He moved his gaze to the window, as if he could find advice or encouragement out there in the clouds.

“What do you have to lose?” the queen urged.

“The future,” he replied somberly.

“The future is a cruel master. We slave for it, missing out on what really matters—the present. The current day is where we are, the only thing we can enjoy. Embrace it, Voron. Seize it. Make it yours, and everything else will fall into place. You have but only yourself to please. Get what you really want, High General.”

Her use of the title he coveted sent a rush of excitement through his chest.

The king stretched his legs, crossing them at his ankles. “It’s such a small thing to give up. But think about everything you gain. You won’t just get the title, you’ll be my right-hand man in everything. My favorite. The richest, the most feared and powerful, with only me and the gods above you.”

What Voron was giving up seemed but an abstract idea if compared with everything he stood to gain. As long as he was loyal, the king would elevate him above all others. The kingdom that had rejected him before would be at his feet now.

His skin prickled with anticipation. He could almost taste the power. It had a heady, addictive flavor.

He lifted the scroll and read, trying not to flinch at the way the sentence was worded.

“I promise not to spill my seed into the womb of any fae for as long as I live.” He tossed the scroll back on the table. “There. No procreation. No offspring to threaten the crown.”

The scroll fluttered over the marble surface, disturbed by the shimmer of magic. A light breeze came from nowhere, tousling Voron’s hair, ruffling the feathers in the king’s wings and billowing the light fabric of the queen’s long sleeves—sealing Voron’s promise for the rest of his life.

The images shimmered and dissipated. The glow trickled down to be absorbed by the pages. But the memories were now fresher than ever in his mind.

He remembered the buzz of anticipation. The power he’d wished for was so close, all he had to do was to reach out and grab it. All he had to give up was sex, and not even all of it, just one part of it.

Back then, he didn’t realize how putting any restrictions on the activity largely led by instinct would forever inhibit any pleasure for him from then on. He hadn’t been able to get lost in desire ever since. Even when his seed wasn’t anywhere near a womb, he couldn’t fully relax with a woman. The mere awareness of the promise stripped enjoyment of any form of sex from him.

At the end, he preferred celibacy to whatever scraps of intimacy he was allowed to have. Only when the need for the touch of a woman grew stronger than the need to breathe would he make use of a willing mouth or a skilled hand of one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.

He exhaled, leaning back in the chair.

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