Page 9 of The Dragon King's Assassin

Chapter Six

If I was disliked and distrusted before that meeting, I was outright reviled afterward. The King's advisers agreed with my assessment, so the King ordered the Captain of the Palace Guard to allow me access to all areas of the palace, as well as answer all my questions, and implement all the changes that I recommended.

I spent the next few days analyzing the walls around the palace, the palace itself, and the routines of the Royal Guard. Then I spent another week working with Captain Vettan and his knights, going over all my recommendations. The Captain, who never stopped glaring at me, endured my presence only because the King was always nearby. I had a feeling that if the King hadn't insisted on me attending him at all times, quietly conducting my meetings with Vettan to the side of whatever meeting he was in, the Captain would have skewered me with his sword.

But the King did insist—guarding him was the main part of my job after all—so the Captain's sword remained sheathed, and the changes I recommended were made smoothly. Despite my status as the palace pariah, I was not attacked again. Again, I think this was more due to the King's presence than any restraint on the part of the palace knights.

Since I'd never had a lot of friends, I wasn't bothered by the lack of warmth. Frankly, I didn't give a shit what the people who lived and worked at the palace thought of me. I was there for one man, and that man ruled them all. So, I ignored the nasty looks and focused on His Majesty.

I quickly fell into a routine with the King. I'd get up, check his entire suite as he awoke more slowly, then we'd eat breakfast together. By this, I mean that he ate his breakfast in bed, naked (gods damn him), and I munched on something in between using the bathroom, getting dressed, and determinedly ignoring his nudity. Then I'd watch over him as he attended meetings, functions, and the like. At midday, we'd have lunch—him at the table and me standing, then more meetings or visits, dinner, sex, and sleep.

Just to clarify, his daily sexual activity did not include me. I would wait on the balcony while he entertained his chosen paramour, then, after they were dismissed, I could come inside and sleep on my pallet on the floor. This was the most excruciating part of my day, and I eventually came to dread nightfall. Standing just outside his bedroom, listening to his lovers moan and scream and go on about his prowess, was a form of torture for me.

The first night, it had been a woman, which disappointed me on two counts. First, that she was a she and second, that she wasn't me. I knew I had little chance of ever being invited to the King's bed, but if he were straight, my chances dove into the negative. The second night, however, he brought a man to bed, and I experienced the odd sensation of relief combined with envy. Since then, the envy had grown into bitterness.

“Oh, fuck,” tonight's lucky man moaned. “Fuck, that cock is magnificent.”

“Yeah, yeah, he's got a nice dick.” I crossed my arms and glared into the shadows of the garden. “So what? Lots of men have nice dicks.”

There weren't as many shadows out there now that the lampposts I'd ordered had been installed, but I made sure to inspect the few unlit areas that were left. It's not as if I had anything better to do.

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty! Please, fill my ass with your royal cum!”

I swung a horrified look toward the balcony doors. “Royal cum? For fuck's sake. Does he have to fuck such morons?”

The King's deep grunts were all the response the courtier received.

“He's probably trying to ignore the guy so he can get off,” I muttered.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Ohhhhh fuuuuck!” The man screamed.

Then there was the whimpering that always came after, well, after they came. It had only been two weeks, but I'd made a mental outline of His Majesty's fucking. Through the conversations—if you could call them that—he had with his lovers, their exclamations of delight, his grunting, the general sounds of sex, and my previous surveillance of him, I'd been able to work out the King's routine. The man's whole life was a routine, so why not his sex? And damn was it all boring.

I almost felt sorry for him. He chose someone new every night, as if a new lover might make a difference. I mean, he couldn't have someone new every night, he'd run out of courtiers, but I'd yet to see the same person twice, so he must have them on rotation. Anyway, if he were dining with the court that night, he'd motion at the lucky bastard or bitch, just a little come-here curl of his finger, and they'd follow him—or us, rather—to his bedchambers. If he decided to dine alone (with me standing to the side) in his suite, then he'd summon someone to him.

Once his chosen courtier was there, I'd go outside, and then they would undress him while complimenting his body. “Oh, Your Majesty, your chest is magnificent,” that sort of thing. The courtier would then perform oral sex on the King, he would grunt through it in a very unimpressed manner, and then they'd get on to either vaginal or anal sex.

From what I'd heard, the King did not pleasure his lovers beyond the act of penetration. They were there for his pleasure and it sounded as if he didn't enjoy performing oral sex. Perhaps he kissed them or played with their bodies—I couldn't tell by sound alone—but it generally went fairly quickly. The King would penetrate his lover, they would moan, he would grunt, they would orgasm (or fake it), he would grunt more, they would whimper while his thrusts sped up, and then the King would make one last grunt that sounded more like relief than pleasure and be done with it. The lover would leave without protest, and I would go back inside with an aching dick.

Yes, despite the uninspired fucking and the distinct possibility that the King was a three-pump pony, I still wanted the guy. Listening to him fuck other people was giving me indigestion and blue balls.

But did it have to?

I looked down at the bulge in my pants, then around at the empty garden. No one was there. The doors behind me were solid wood. I was essentially alone. Why not?

I undid my pants enough to slide my hand inside.

The slap of flesh on flesh echoing out to me grew faster. The man's whimpering turned into the harsh panting of air forced from lungs by the thrust of powerful hips. I closed my eyes and imagined it was me. That I was on my knees on the royal bed, with the royal cock slamming into me, about to fill me with that royal cum. The smacking sound grew louder; His Majesty was close. Oh, fuck, so was I. I'd been listening to this man fuck for two weeks now, all while wanting him, and I hadn't been given the time or opportunity to relieve myself like this. So it didn't take much to send me over.

I bit my lip to hold back my cry but a soft sound escaped as my hips locked up, and I came hard, shooting my release through the posts of the railing and into the garden below. The orgasm was so violent that it made my ears ring, and it took me a few seconds to realize that His Majesty had come with me. As I panted and set myself to rights, I heard the King's lover get dressed and leave. I stretched my shoulders and neck, smiled at the stars, and sighed. Finally, I could get a good night's sleep.

“Assassin!” the King called as he did every night, but this time, there was an edge to his tone that didn't bode well.

I went inside the dimly lit room and locked the doors behind me. I always slept in my clothes, my weapons nearby, so I only removed my boots before I went into his dressing room to fetch my pallet. I set it up before the balcony doors, then hung a bell over the inner door's handle, all without even glancing his way. It wasn't until I was on my way back to my pallet that the King broke our routine.

In a voice full of claws, teeth, and cock, he said, “I smell you.”

I froze. “I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't realize I was overdue for a bath. I will—”

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