Page 15 of The Maleficent Faerie
“If you release me,” I murmur, trying to appear calm even though my heart is racing, “I will fall to my knees, and I’ll take your dick in my mouth. I’ll let you come on my tongue. But you have to unchain me first—I can’t kneel unless I’m free.”
“Women always assume I want them subservient, kneeling before me.” He traces a claw down my cheek. “They don’t understand what I truly crave.”
“And what is that? I have an open mind—I’ll do anything.”
“If I unchain you?”
“Yes.”
He inhales slowly, as if he’s savoring my scent. Then he pushes himself away from the post and turns toward the bed. “I think I should lie down, after all.”
Shit, I’m losing him. “What about a little pleasure? Wouldn’t you like to shove yourself down my throat, make me gag on the cock of the man who cursed me?”
He throws me an incredulous look. “Why in the Void would I do that to you?”
“Because you hate me. You hate the Royals, and my people, and our religion.”
“I dislike the Royals, I pity your people, and I think your religion is foolish. Shoving my cock down your throat wouldn’t fix any of that.” He flings himself face-down on the bed, wings outspread. His ass does indeed have a faintly pinkish tint, like his dick. I have the strangest urge to smack those bare cheeks, like he spanked me earlier.
“I want this to be over.” His voice is so muffled by the pillow I can barely hear him. “I want it done.”
For a moment, I allow myself to think about life after Dawn’s twenty-fifth birthday. Life beyond the ever-present threat of her capture or death.
The people who have tried to assassinate her, to prevent the curse and the resulting loss of the Conduit—they won’t have a reason to kill her anymore. And the Daenalla won’t keep trying to steal her away. At least—I don’t think they will. For some reason, the Void King seems to want access to her bloodbeforeshe takes her place as the Conduit. I’ve never heard any theories about why. Perhaps I should ask him.
What would a post-curse realm look like? Midunnel would still be torn by conflict, still under threat from the Edge, but it would be so much less stressful forme.
I can barely imagine the relief of a world like that.
“I want it done, too,” I whisper.
But the Void King doesn’t answer. I believe he has fallen asleep.
6
Groggily my mind resurfaces from a restless sleep. The fever has broken; I’m no longer blazing with virulent heat. Now all I need is a fresh surge of magic. For that, we can pause at the Hellevan Chapel on our way to Ru Gallamet. And then, once we reach my castle, I will bind the Princess to my Spindle, place her finger on its tip, and craft the magic I’ve been working on for decades—the spell that might be able to save our entire realm.
Her parents wouldn’t give her to me when she was born. Wouldn’t even let me try the spell, no matter how many times I promised them she would be safe, that the magic wouldn’t kill her.
So I cast the curse.
The curse was supposed to force them to give her to me. If she pricked her finger on any spindle, she would pass into a century of sleep—which would deprive Caennith of their next Conduit and prevent their Fae from having the power they need to hold back the Edge with light magic.
If Dawn pricked her finger onmySpindle, the same fate would befall her—but with her blood, applied to my machine, I could Spin the magic to save us all. A much better outcome.
I’d tried the spell before her birth, with a vial of her father’s blood, reluctantly given. It did not work, and I theorized that the blood needed to be younger, purer—applied prior to the subject’s ascension as the Conduit. When I heard news of Dawn’s impending birth, I was thrilled to have another chance.
But the King and Queen wouldn’t see reason, wouldn’t listen to logic—not even after I cast the curse, when I explained how they could save her from the enchanted sleep. It was a sacrifice one of them should have been willing to make. But perhaps love has waned in this realm, along with the shrinking borders of our world.
To wake the cursed Princess, the one who loves her best must kiss her, and thereby take her place, sleeping for one hundred years. During that time, they would age normally. Since both Dawn’s parents are around two hundred years old, the one who took her place would likely not wake again.
Ideally, they would have given her to me as an infant, and the curse would never have been cast.
But even after our falling out, when I laid the curse, the Royals could have mended things. They could have sent the Princess to me, so I could try the spell. And then one of them could have gone to sleep in her place, restoring her as the Conduit, the heir to the Caennith throne. If my spell worked, our realm would be saved and the Caennith Fae wouldn’t need their precious Conduit. If it didn’t work, we would all be doomed anyway, Conduit or not.
Their stubbornness does not matter anymore, because I have her—the God-Touched heir, the Crown Princess. At last I can perform the great work of my lifetime, the spell to end the crushing pressure of the Void upon this realm.
I roll over and sit up, flaring my wings to straighten any bent feathers. I should preen them later, but right now I want to admire my prize. My gaze locks on the Princess—
