Page 326 of Kingdoms of Night

I grin against my pillow. I never expected her to get attached to me, yet she's jealous of my affections, like any of my hounds.

I run my thumb against her bare breast and watch her nipple grow taut.

I've been careful not to exhaust her, mortal and weak as she is, but I'm tempted to push her a little tonight.

I deserve it after dealing with Morag.

"Several times. Iamover four thousand years old," I remind her.

Watching her eyes bulge, I realize I've never given her my exact age until now.

"How many?" she asks.

I have to think for a moment. My wives have had very little impact on my life, and I so rarely think of them, I have to search my memory. "Three times. The only one still alive is Morag," I assure her. "So you won't have to deal with the others." Thank the stars for that.

Morag, for all her schemes, is by far the lesser evil. Parlu was a snake and Torja would have cut off my head if I'd been stupid enough to sleep at any point during our one-hundred-year contract.

I chose none of my wives—my father did the honor, making me enter into the joy of contractual betrothal to further his agenda. I could have refused, naturally, and many a time, I have, but those three wives came with added territories that now belong to my domain. Morag likes to still play queen at the Silver Keep, but she knows her land is mine.

"What happened to them?"

"Parlu was murdered by a scorned lover and Torja, by her own ambition. She killed her next husband, and his family sought revenge." I trace the shape of her waist and hips, before sliding my hand to her entrance. She's coated with her cum and mine, positively filthy.

I ought to tell her we've conceived our first child, though I'm reluctant to do so. She might ask why I keep screwing her, and I'd have to admit to her I like doing so. I don't have much of a choice: I cannot lie. I could refuse to answer, or hedge, of course, but annoying her isn't in my interest. Not when I've grown so fond of my little pet.

"You don't care at all that they're dead," Lena realizes, with surprise.

I snort. "You've met Morag. Would you?"

She finds that amusing enough to grant me one of her rare chuckles.

Blast it to all hells, I don't have a choice. I'll attempt to be gentle this time.

I shift over her and lift her thighs, hooking them over my neck. My pretty little pet grins at me as I align my cock with her eager cunt and drive back home.

I am not gentle. I can never be with her. Not since she hooked her claws into the fabric of my soul.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Velvet, taffeta, and the richest wild silk, linen, muslins, and wool, thick and soft leather, in any color I might want. I'm practically buried under a rich assortment of fabrics, all in several shades.

"I can't believe it."

"Why?" Iara rolls her eyes. "It's right before your eyes."

She doesn't get it. "All these fabrics are the best quality possible. Very expensive. And there areso many." I look at the two trolls. No wonder they took over a month to grant my request. "You're miracle workers."

They beam, and the dark-skinned one whispers, "The king said to provide you with everything you could desire, my lady."

My heart skips a beat. "He did?"

It stands to reason that two indentured servants wouldn’t have the resources to order this much without permission, but I’m surprised the king himself gave the authorization.

I’m still surprised, as Dryan has never seen the necessity of clothing where I’m concerned. I’ve asked several times, only to be told he’d think about it.

I don’t care whether I’m allowed to wear clothes. I’m just glad to have something to play with. I’m tired of pretending to write letters I’ll never send. Iara occasionally brings me books, so unlike the Church of the Sun’s lectures—stories of love and betrayal, or fairy tricks and schemes, and I devour those. Still, I’ve been itching to do something with my hands.

I don’t set out with a specific plan in mind when I take the silver chiffon and start a skirt. I just sew. I enjoy myself. By the time Dryan is done with his work, I’m grinning like a smug cat, and I’m more than happy to get on my knees without him demanding it.

---