Page 10 of The Manticore's Human Queen
The words hang in the air between us, a declaration that changes everything. I watch her absorb them, her eyes widening, her lips parting in a silent gasp. I feel a violent tremor run through her hand, a shockwave of pure, unadulterated hope. It is a hope so new, so fragile, it is almost indistinguishable from terror.
For a long moment, she simply stares at me, her mind clearly struggling to comprehend the future I have just offered her. A future beyond the bars of her gilded cage, a future of snow and of freedom, a future at my side.
The seed is planted. The abstract concept of escape, which has been a solitary, desperate dream for us both, has just become a shared, tangible goal. My mission is no longer just about finding my brothers, about saving my world. It is about saving hers.
And I know, with an absolute and unshakable certainty, that I will burn this entire, rotten estate to the ground to make that promise a reality.
12
ANNELISE
Iwake with a ragged gasp, my body flushed from the dream of Tarek’s dark eyes, seeing me as his queen. The image sears itself into my mind: his gaze, intense and possessive, promising a future I’m not sure I want, yet can’t deny. The opulent chambers—silk-draped bed, jewel-encrusted vanity, and rich tapestries depicting fantastical beasts—mock my captivity in moonlight’s silver glow. Each luxurious detail, from the softest fabrics to the shimmering gems, feels like a gilded cage.
His promise,If I leave this place, you leave with me, burns within me, a defiant spark in my suffocating luxury, a silent rebellion against the gilded chains that bind me. It’s a promise of freedom, but also a new form of servitude, tied irrevocably to a man I barely know, yet whose presence consumes my every waking thought and invades my dreams.
My body, a vessel of suffering and a mere instrument in Lord Zarren’s cruel and sadistic games, has never truly belonged to me. It has been a canvas for his brutal whims, a possession to be used and discarded at his leisure, utterly devoid of my own will or agency. Yet, within this subjugated form, a nascent rebellionstirs, ignited by the raw, untamed strength and profound honor of Tarek.
I close my eyes, and in the sanctuary of my mind, I conjure his image. I see his hands, strong and scarred from battles fought and victories won, not as symbols of brutality, but as conduits of a protective power. I feel the echoes of his manticore strength, a force of nature that resonates with something wild and yearning deep within my own spirit.
His raw power, unbridled and fiercely loyal, paints a vivid picture of me – not the meticulously adorned, silenced ornament of the dark elves’ court, but a woman capable of defiance, of reclaiming what was stolen, and of forging her own destiny. In his presence, I glimpse a future where my body is not a cage, but a sanctuary, and my spirit, finally, is free.
My hands slide beneath the silk sheets, trembling with defiance. Touching myself is war, a revolt against those who chain me. My fingers stroke my wet heat, claiming what’s mine, guided by Tarek’s image.
I imagine Tarek bending me over this bed, skirt lifted, his massive hands spanking my ass red. “You’re my queen, Annelise, but I’ll fuck you like my whore,” he growls.
“No my king, I beg you; your cock will destroy me,” I groan, desiring it even more.
“I am your king,” he’d say, “And your pussy belongs to me.”
I’d whine in pleasure as his cock would enter me from behind, rough and unforgiving.
Stretching my soft pussy walls and fucking me hard and relentless.
“Fuck me harder, my king,” I whisper, fingers plunging deeper, picturing his thrusts destroying me, filling me with his thick manticore cock.
Pleasure builds, sharp with the sting of imagined slaps, my body arching against silk.
“Break me, Tarek—fill my cunt,” I moan, lost in the fantasy of his brutal rhythm. My climax crashes, a wild, trembling scream, my body shaking with revolutionary fire.
Fear coils, a reminder of Zarren’s cruel world. Desiring a caged manticore is treason, but this act drowns fear in power. I’m no passive victim; Tarek’s honor fuels my rebellion.
In the aftermath, my body hums, the silken prison no longer my master. His promise, his strength, kindles belief in my freedom. It’s the most exhilarating feeling I’ve known.
13
TAREK
There is a new light in her eyes when she comes to me now, a confidence that was not there before. My promise—If I leave this place, you leave with me—was a seed, and in the fertile ground of her own quiet desperation, it has taken root. She is no longer just a survivor; she is a conspirator.
She begins the familiar ritual of tending to my wounds, her touch now possessing a steady, deliberate intimacy. As she re-bandages my forearm, her fingers trace the edge of a much older scar, a jagged, silver line that is a relic of a life she cannot imagine.
“You have seen many battles,” she says softly. It is not a question.
“I have,” I rumble, my voice a low growl in the quiet menagerie.
Her fingers linger on the scar. “This one is different from the others.”
My muscles tense beneath her touch. She sees too much. “It is an old wound. Nothing more.”
