Page 3 of The Queen's Line

And then soil my sheets with them, so that the palace may boast of the princess inherit's Hunger.

I stormed my way through the halls, my steps thunderous on the marble, bouncing from pillar to pillar as if I were being chased. I could offer myself not one moment to think if I was going to see this through. I would take my grandmother's advice and choose the most virile of the men, in a wide variety, and then I would…

You'll fuck them. Just say it. Think it. Whatever you have to do. Prove you are worthy to take the throne.

The men were waiting, slightly more dressed than before while having a meal in the dining hall. My grandmother's favorite advisor was waiting for me by the door, a hawkish woman named Isolde, who I'd once caught sucking the cock of one of my mother's harem and who'd seemed mildly nervous around me ever since. As she should be. Touching a Chosen was forbidden to anyone but his mistress.

"Your Highness," Isolde said, dipping into a low curtsey at my arrival.

"Begin with the royals and nobles," I said in lieu of a greeting.

Isolde nodded, and her head remained ducked as she led me to the head of the table.

"Prince Dmitri of Quintaine," Isolde said as we stood by a very handsome young man with a stare that fastened to me and a lovely swoop of dark hair. "He ranks a five."

Ah, pity. Fives were the worst on the scale, small and not very girthy. Whoever had designed the rankings had decided it was better to place the worst in the middle and mix the rest up in a complicated code, so as to confuse the numbers and not to bruise the feelings of the men too much.

"Under two minutes, and remained uninspired," Isolde murmured.

So good looks weren't everything then. "Dismiss him," I answered softly.

Isolde crossed his name off her list. There were twenty nobles in total, and I realized they seemed to be a generally uninspired lot according to our statistics. Based on the criteria of penis size, stamina, and refractory period, only five so far met Grandmother's standards, and I'd happily dismissed the rest. We reached the last of the nobles, and I wondered if I could break my own promise to please Grandmother and simply keep him for aesthetics.

He was beautiful in an artful way. His shoulders were strikingly broad, and he remained bare-chested at the table, revealing an exquisite collection of tattoos on his tan body, done as carefully as paintings. His hair was sleek and black, and he was obviously from the Menarry Isles, with dark eyes and full lips.

"Prince Thao of the Menarry Isles, rank three." Three was good, nice and middle of the range. He might be long, or girthy, or average. Nothing too much or too little. An everyday cock by my grandmother's reporting. "His family line are all tiger shifters, but they took special note to say he prolonged for over twenty minutes, and was ready in under that."

The men were instructed not to acknowledge me as I learned their statistics, but Prince Thao glanced up and caught my eye. He didn't smirk, as many of the other nobles did. He looked…nervous. I wondered if it was because he didn't expect to be chosen, given his double nature. Shifters had a kind of magic that resisted our Hunger and was considered a poor choice for Chosen. If the prince were a commoner he wouldn't have been allowed to attend, but exceptions were made for royalty. He probably wasn't expecting to become my Chosen, but I found his nervousness called to me, in sympathy if nothing else.

"He will stay," I said, holding his gaze.

Isolde made her notes, and we moved to the next man.

"This is our ambassador to the Mennary Isles, Wendell Pope. He's a…" Isolde cleared her throat, cheeks flushing. "He's a nine, and he…prolonged for almost an hour."

I blinked at that. Would I evenwantto be made love to for an hour? Perhaps…if I had the Hunger. I was tempted to dismiss Wendell Pope simply to avoid such a possibility, except that he was so handsome, and Grandmother would probably disinherit me if she learned his statistics.

"We didn't have time to test him again," Isolde whispered.

Wendell Pope's cheeks flushed, and so did Prince Thao's. Was Thao jealous of Wendell's performance? Would that be some of the good tension or the bad tension?

"He will stay," I said.

I hadn't realized how many of my own people I had plucked from the lines, but it was more than double the number of nobles. I decided that if I kept five out of twenty nobles, I would keep twelve out of fifty commoners as if that might make it fairer. Having criteria at least made it a little easier to decide.

For the most part, the commoners favored much better by the statistics, and I let myself grow picky. That one was a two, which was quite good, but he was slurping. This one had a refractory period under ten minutes but only lasted five.

My rakish look-a-like from the great hall was named Cosmo Pianetta, and he ignored the rules in favor of looking back at me.

"A two at thirty minutes and refreshed in about that much," Isolde said, and then added to me, "But they noted that he watched the others as he did it."

I opened my mouth to ask—had the other men inspired him, or was he only prone to staring—and then snapped it shut again. "He will stay," I said, deciding that I could ask him later.

We moved on to a man who winked at me as he ate a chicken drumstick, red beard shining with grease.

"A twelve," Isolde informed me.

"Dismiss him," I said quickly. Anything above a ten was sure to injure me.

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