Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven

“ H ow about some cheese?” says Tristan.

“No! Go away!” I snap vehemently, but it is a bit muffled by all the blankets I’m buried under, and it loses some of its force.

Tristan sighs, and I know that is a sign to brace myself. Because, so far, whenever I have said no to him, he has simply manhandled me into doing whatever he wants. Therefore, any moment now, he is going to grab my ankle or some other part of me and yank me out of bed.

The soft thud of the door closing startles me. He has left? He is not going to force me out of this bed? My heart races and my mind swims in confusion. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved. On one hand, I really don’t want to face him after the whole truth serum mortification. On the other hand, having him just walk out like that, feels an awful lot like abandonment.

When the hell did I become such an attention seeking, needy brat? When someone actually noticed you and gave you attention and you realised how starved you were for it. My rational mind helpfully supplies. Well, I can go fuck myself. I don’t need that kind of deep reflection in my life. Not now, and not ever .

The sound of the door opening again has me frantically checking that I’m still completely covered by the blankets, while at the same time, a stupid, disgusting hope bubbles through me. Oh my god, I am such a mess.

Footsteps pad softly towards me and my heart sinks. It is not Tristan. I can never hear that motherfucker move.

“Hi!” says a far too bright, far too cheery, suspiciously human sounding voice. “I’m Jamie. I wanted to meet you days ago but Tristan kept making excuses.”

Oh my stars. I am not in the mood for being gawped at. Or for making small talk. Or pretending to be friendly. I just want to be alone to wallow in my misery. Is being allowed to die from embarrassment in peace, too much to ask for?

“When I first arrived here, I was so scared,” the voice says.

I ignore him and burrow deeper into the blankets. Hopefully, he will get bored soon and go away. Not least because it is getting damn hot and stuffy under here. I’m starting to sweat like a pig and my nose is running. For now, I’ll just have to sniff it up and hope for the best.

“Oh!” exclaims the voice softly. “You’re crying? Oh you poor little thing! It is going to be okay. I won’t let Tristan scare you anymore.”

What the fuck? Scared? Me? Outrageous! I’m angry and humiliated and confused, but I’m not scared. Is that what this stupid human thinks? Is that what Tristan thinks? Did hiding under the blankets give him completely the wrong idea?

Oh god. It did. Didn’t it? That’s why he hasn’t simply dragged me out yet and forced me to eat cheese. He thinks I’m scared. Of him!

“I’m not fucking scared!” I bellow as I throw the blankets off.

A ridiculously pretty human in fey clothes scurries back away from the bed. He is all big brown eyes and glossy hair. Hair that is done up all fancy like a fey’s.

Wait a minute, he was babbling about being scared when he first got here, and how he was going to get Tristan to stop scaring me.

Is this Tristan’s pet? His first? Am I not the only one? Am I merely an addition to his collection? It makes perfect sense that Tristan has a whole damn harem.

My guts twist painfully. My lungs constrict. My hands ball into fists.

“I’m not scared!” I snarl again. “I’m not a snivelling, pathetic coward like you! I don’t need your pity. I’m not some charity case you can make yourself feel better with. So take your smug, pretentious face and fuck off!”

Wide brown eyes stare up at me. I’m pretty sure I’m only appearing taller than him because I am kneeling on the bed, but whatever. It works, so I’ll take it.

His face has gone very pale. Now his chin is wobbling.

I roll my eyes and grind my teeth. “Leave me the fuck alone, you whiny piece of shit!”

His hands fly to his mouth. Tears fall from his eyes. A sob escapes him as he whirls and runs out of the room.

I climb off of the bed and stalk into the next room. Time to spread the message to Tristan. He hasn’t fucking scared me. He has pissed me off. There is a big difference.

The fancy door that leads to the hallway and the rest of the palace is just slamming shut as I step into the main room. Tristan is frozen, half risen from a plump chair as he stares at the door in horror .

His ruby eyes turn to me. “What have you done?”

I shrug and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t care that I’ve upset his little pet, and I certainly do not care that Tristan cares so much.

Tristan collapses back into his chair. “Jamie is Rhydian’s consort.”

My brows furrow. What the hell is a consort? And does it mean the pretty human is Rhydian’s and not Tristan’s? Oh…wait. I remember now. In the throne room, kneeling before Rhydian, and the pompous ass saying Jamie wasn’t there to save Tristan.

Jamie. That Jamie? That’s the Jamie I was just yelling at?

Okay, the pieces are starting to fit together, but I still have no idea what a consort is.

Tristan sees my look of confusion. “Jamie is Rhydian’s wife.”

I can feel my eyes popping out and my jaw dropping open. My crossed arms fall weakly to my side.

Oh shit. Oh shitty shit. Shit, shit shitty.

I look at Tristan and he huffs as he sees that I am grasping the full severity of the situation. He might as well be screaming, ‘Oh so now you understand when it is too frigging late!’ into my face.

Indignation coils through me. How the hell was I supposed to know? I’m not psychic.

“Rhydian loves Jamie and is very protective of him,” Tristan says weakly. “And you made him cry.”

I suck in a breath. Okay. That intensifies the shit level. We are not merely talking about pride or appearance or saving face. We are talking about that scary king dude being genuinely pissed off. At me. A human pet he wasn’t pleased about in the first place .

Tristan’s gaze fixes on me. I watch as a calm resolution fills his eyes. He has decided something. I swallow dryly and wait to hear my fate.

“I have to punish you,” he states. “Or Rhydian will. And then you will have no fingers or toes.”

A sharp inhale escapes me. It almost sounds like a gasp. Okay, it totally was a gasp. Because this time, I am actually frightened, and I think the threat of having all your fingers and toes cut off, is a very valid reason to be scared. Nothing pussy about it. It is entirely reasonable.

Tristan stands up and moves around the room. My heart is pounding. I can feel it in my chest and hear it in my ears. My mouth is dry. Tristan is hinting that his punishment is going to be more lenient than his brother’s. But just what exactly is he going to do to me?

“Come here,” he says suddenly and I startle.

Oh wow. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice what he was doing. And now he is sitting in the middle of a couch, with a snowy white towel on his lap. As I stare at him, he pats it.

“Lie over my lap.”

My eyebrows rise. A spanking? But what is the towel for? Actually, I don’t care. Out of all the horrendous things I was starting to imagine, a spanking seems like an incredibly good deal. Granted, I’ve never been spanked, but how bad can it be?

I hold my head up high, walk proudly over to him, and then drape myself over his lap with as much dignity as I can muster.

Most of me is lying face down on the couch, with only my ass on his lap. It is strangely comfortable. Too comfortable. Feeling the touch of another person’s body is like a drink of water after being lost in the desert.

“So you can do as you are told,” Tristan remarks dryly.

I grind my teeth and say nothing. I’ve got myself into enough trouble for one day.

His hands lightly skim up my legs and it takes me a moment to realise that he is sliding my robes up. He pushes them up to my hips and a slight breeze dances over my now naked ass.

One hot hand caresses softly over my flesh and I shudder with sensation. He cups one cheek and then the other. Then he gives both a little jiggle. Such a pervert. But I’m so overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of being touched, that I’m not sure I mind all that much. I’ve had more physical touch since Tristan took me prisoner than I’ve ever had in my entire life combined.

The sound of a stopper being pulled out of a bottle makes me jump. I really need to get a grip, but just as I am thinking that, something thick and viscous pours on to my crack. Oil? Is he pouring oil on me? It smells musky, like sandalwood. And oh my gosh. It is warm. Warm enough to be nearly hot.

I bite my bottom lip in an effort not to make a hideous noise as the thick, hot oil slides down my crack and finds its way to my hole. It seems to pool there, setting off all sorts of delightful tingles and strange sensations.

Oh lord. I’m starting to doubt that this is going to be a spanking. I think he has other things in mind.

Tristan’s finger follows the oil’s path, gliding between my cheeks and down to my hole. Confirming my suspicion about his intentions .

Suddenly I’m yelling and my back is bowed. Oh my god. He just shoved a finger right inside me. Deep. All the way to the knuckle. And…stars…it feels amazing.

Tristan chuckles deeply. “Weren’t expecting that? The oil loosens you nicely, so there is no need to wait.”

His finger moves around inside me. Rummaging. It brushes against something that makes me see stars. A filthy moan echoes around the room. I really hope it wasn’t mine.

“Just as I thought,” Tristan says conversationally. “Your sweet spot is very engorged.”

I have no idea why he is talking to me. I’m really not capable of processing words right now. Nevertheless, he rabbits on.

“You are fey, and need to release regularly and frequently. Which you haven’t been doing. You are also a vessel, which also hasn’t been taken care of. All this pent up sexual energy and magic, it is a wonder that you are not even more uptight and grouchy.”

Grouchy? The…a loud carnal moan of unmistakable delight spills out of my mouth. The bastard added a second finger, and it feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“What…is…vessel,” I manage to pant. If he is going to insult me, I at least want to be able to understand it.

“Someone who can’t wield their magic, so they need to give it to others through sex.”

What the actual hell? I have never heard anything so ridiculous in all my days. I snort derisively but ruin it by disintegrating into a whimper as he slides his fingers in and out again. Friction and fullness. It feels so good.

Somehow I pull myself together enough to spit out, “ Convenient!”

“What is?” Tristan asks, and he sounds so fucking jovial and pleased again. I should hate it. I should prefer it when he is stressed and anxious and exasperated.

“That you have to fuck magic out of me!” I gasp.

He chuckles. A warm, tender sound. “Convenient for both of us, I think.”

His fingers burrow deep inside me again and I don’t have breath to argue.

“I’m going to make you cum, Little Nisny. Because you need it. I’m going to make you cum and cum again. Until you are begging me to stop. Until it hurts. And then I am going to make you cum again. Because you also need to be punished. You are going to cry and scream and sob and shake and there is going to be no mercy until you pass out.”

My entire body shudders. I feel his words in every cell of my body. The thing is, I can’t tell if they make me terrified or excited. I think it is quite possibly both.

Oh stars. I’m so screwed.

Literally.