8

Khal Drogo.

Did her omega wards fail to feed her? Do I need to punish someone for that? I roll my jaw but besides that, she’s fine with me having a harem?

The silence that follows her words is telling. No one here actually believes she means them. Not Micah. Not Throgo. Not even me.

She’s intimidated. Vastly. By me, by this kingdom, by everything she does not yet understand. If I were some human king, some docile counterpart of hers, would she still agree to it? I highly doubt it. But I have never been the kind of male to bend at the will of a woman—queen or not. Her opinion on the matter holds no weight.

"Really?" Throgo drags his tongue across his teeth.

I know him. I know exactly why he’s bringing this up. He wants to test her. To gauge strength or lack thereof, in the human girl who now sits beside me. And now. he has his answer—she is soft, docile, breakable. His ridiculous little investigation should end here.

I turn to him with a warn. Enough.

He knows better than to push me. I was the one who taught him how to bare his teeth, how to wade through the blood and filth of our kind, how to bite deep enough that the wound never heals. He owes his every learned instinct to me. And yet, he despises me for it.

I sent him to another werewolf kingdom to deal with territorial disputes. After our father’s death, I was left the throne of Basgiath but it didn’t come easily.

The royal court was divided between us. I had my supporters and he had his. Throgo never accepted that our father chose me as king. The moment it became clear I would rule, we became enemies. But the truth is, we were never brothers—we were rivals from birth. The only sons of a king with countless concubines and from the time we could walk, we were set against each other. It was always going to end in war.

To prevent war, I gave him a choice: fight me, and the strongest would take the throne. I am king so that tells you who won. I gave him a single chance to change fate and he failed.

I wipe my hands on the napkin and drop it onto the table.

 "Can I speak to you, Akemi?" My voice is calm yet she flinches at the sound of it. I don’t know if I have to whisper to not keep her from jumping.

"Everyone. Leave us." I say. It is a command, not a request.

Throgo clenches his jaw—he hates when I order him. I see it in the way his muscles lock, in the way his hands twitch like he’s resisting the urge to defy me. Our mother rises and looks at me in worry as if I might rip my little human queen apart the second we’re alone.

One by one, they leave.

Therefore, silence.

 I watch her. Again, she is a human. A slight thing with the whitest skin of alabaster, soft where I am hard, pale where I am sun-darkened.

Her lips are red without artifice, how can something be like that in its natural state? Her cheeks are freckled—they remind me of a peach split open. Dainty hands held together in nervousness and big doe eyes darting toward me before skittering away. She has a face fit for a queen, that is a fact no one can argue.

She lifts a hand to her throat and there goes that hand of hers, all I can think is how they would feel wrapped around my cock, how her knuckles would whiten when I fucked her.

I swallow. The hunger is because I marked her.

She doesn’t know what she looks like in the Moon Robe. But I do.

No woman in my kingdom—hell, in this entire realm has ever looked the way she does. It was clear the first time I laid eyes on her.

“I apologize again—” she stammers and won’t meet my gaze. I didn’t even realize how long I’d been staring until she started to speak.

“I will never wear my old clothes again. I swear… please.”

“Human.” I start.

I refuse to say her name. I have already marked her and Ragar is already desperate to claim her completely. I will not make it worse by speaking her name aloud, by letting him get too used to her especially when I have not yet come to terms with the fact that my mate is human. I have not accepted it in my core!

“My name is—”

“I know what your name is.” I smirk.

“Are you aware of what will happen in ten days? I did not consummate our bond the day I marked you because you were… confused. But with today, we have nine days left to know each other before the second consummation. So, tell me, what do you want to know about me?” I crack my knuckles, waiting.

“In front of the elders?” she asks.

“There will be a veil.” I tell her. “They will see only the curve of our shadows and they will hear us.”

She pales further. She does not ask another question.

“I know I can be much but, on that day, I shall be gentle with you.”

Her doe eyes lift to meet mine, though I don’t know what she hopes to find.

“We are king and queen, and this is our responsibility.” I push back from my seat, rising to my feet. “Since you have no questions for me—or are too afraid to ask—I will leave you to think about it.”

But just as I turn, she speaks.

“What does it mean to be your mate?”

 “My brothers forced me here. They sold me to you. This is not the life I envisioned for myself.”

I pause. Slowly, I face her again.

“So you don’t want to be here?” I ask.

Instead of answering, she rises as if she is standing for judgment.

“No.” She whispers.

“And if I give you back to your brother, do you know what will happen? They will sell you again. And this time, you won’t have the luck of becoming queen. Much less the queen of the kingdom you stand in now. You’ll be some lesser wolf’s whore—or worse, a human’s broodmare."

Her heartbeat pounds against my ears, but more than that—I watch the rise and fall of her breasts. My gaze lingers on the swell of it beneath the fabric of the Moon Robe.

She shakes her head against being sold again.

“If you have another question for me, you are welcome to ask. You are a virgin, so I will teach you—”

She gasps, scandalized.

“I will ease your nerves and show you that I am disciplined… not the monster you fear.”

I claim a hand on her waist and pull her forward. She is so small, so slight in my grasp. Her hands splay against my chest in an attempt to keep distance, but it does more harm than good. Her waist is so small that one hand of mine has swallowed it. And Ragar? He’s already painting filthy images in my mind of her hands on my chest as she—riding me, in a grind as she takes me deeper, harder—

“If you can’t handle my hand on your waist, how will you handle me inside of you?" My voice comes out rougher than I intend.

"I—I am willing to learn." She whispers with all the strength she can amass.

Brave little thing.

“Tomorrow, we will practice.” I lean into her face because of the height difference that is so far between us. She is petite and I am a mountain before her.

Moons, with the scent of her hair in my nose, I lose it to possession and my hand on her waist goes lower, itching to feel the plush flesh of her backside and squeeze until she gasps. I can already imagine the sound she’d make. But I don’t.

“Tomorrow, we will start practicing.” I say again, and I let go of her.