Chapter 334: Queen Kate’s Threats

Alaric’s hand stayed clamped on Kate’s breast. It wasn’t a gentle touch. It was possessive. Demanding. He could feel the frantic flutter of her heart beneath his palm, like a trapped bird beating against cage bars. Her mind was screaming in the silent, magical darkness he’d wrapped her in. She was trapped. Awake. Blind. Mute. Terrified.

He squeezed again, harder this time, enjoying the way her whole body jerked like a puppet whose strings he held. Her silent, internal screams were almost… palpable.

’Okay, this is fun,’ he thought, a cruel amusement curling his lips. ’The pure terror… it’s a nice little appetizer.’

But…

’Silent screaming gets old fast. Where’s the entertainment in that?’

He wanted to hear her. That was half the fun. He wanted her pleas. Her curses. Her eventual, inevitable, broken moans. That was the real music. The soundtrack to his conquest.

He glanced over the ridiculous wall of cushions at the snoring King Reginald. Just a sack of potatoes, completely oblivious to the wolf that had slipped into his den. Pathetic.

’Right,’ Alaric decided. ’Time for some adjustments to the performance.’

He focused his magic again, weaving a more complex, layered spell this time. It wasn’t difficult. Modifying his own Silken Nightmare Binds was like a master painter adding a new stroke to his canvas.

He extended the invisible tendrils of the spell over the cushion wall, letting them settle onto the snoring King. He twisted the parameters, his mind sharp as a razor.

’Eyes sealed. Check. Ears plugged. Check. Mouth shut tight. Check. Nerves dulled to zero. Like he’s been dipped in numbing jelly. Perfect. Sweet dreams, Reggie.’

The King let out a particularly loud, wet snore, completely unaware he’d just been magically lobotomized from the neck up. He wouldn’t hear a thing. Wouldn’t feel a thing. Wouldn’t wake up if a bomb went off next to his ear.

“Much better,” Alaric whispered, his satisfaction a low hum in his chest. “Now, for you, my dear…”

He focused on the part of the spell binding Kate’s mouth, the invisible gag he’d woven from pure arcane force. He didn’t remove it entirely. That would be too abrupt. He just… loosened it. Like easing the tension on a tightly wound spring.

He mentally commanded, “Vocalize.”

Kate felt it instantly. The crushing pressure around her jaw, the feeling of her tongue being glued to the roof of her mouth… it vanished. Air flooded her lungs. She could breathe freely. She could speak!

Hope, raw and desperate, surged through her.

“GUARDS!”

The scream ripped from her throat, raw with terror and a desperate, primal need for rescue.

“GUARDS! HELP ME! INTRUDER!”

She screamed again, louder this time, her voice cracking with the force of it.

“REGINALD! WAKE UP! FOR GODS’ SAKE, WAKE UP! SOMEONE HELP!”

Alaric just chuckled. The sound was low, dark, and utterly devoid of concern. His hand moved from her breast to her other one, his fingers finding her nipple through the thin silk. He pinched it. Hard.

“Aaaah! Stop it! Who are you?!” she screamed, thrashing uselessly against the invisible binds that still held her body completely immobile. “Let me go!”

“Stop screaming,” he advised, his voice calm, conversational, right by her ear again. “It’s a waste of your breath.”

“The guards will hear! They’re right outside! They’ll break down the door! They’ll kill you!” she sobbed, clinging to that last, desperate hope.

“Shouting won’t help, your Majesty,” Alaric said calmly. “Didn’t you notice? It’s awfully quiet in here. Besides your lovely voice, of course.”

“What do you mean?!” she cried. “They have to hear me!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, pinching her other nipple just as hard, making her cry out again. “See, after I slipped past your husband’s… charming… little door wards—which were quite good, by the way, points to his ancestors—I put up a ward of my own.”

“Your own ward?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he confirmed, his fingers now idly tracing circles around her nipple, sending shivers down her spine. “A nice, thick, top-of-the-line soundproof one. Covers the whole room. Walls, floor, ceiling. Completely sealed.”

“No…” she whispered, the hope draining out of her like water through sand.

“Oh, yes,” he purred. “You could scream until your pretty little throat is raw. You could sing an opera. You could set off fireworks in here. No one’s coming. No one can hear a thing.”

“You’re lying!”

“Am I?” he asked softly. “Listen.”

He stopped touching her for a moment. The silence descended again, thick and absolute. Broken only by her own ragged, panicked breathing and the pathetic, rhythmic snoring of her useless husband.

She was trapped. Utterly. Completely. Alone with him.

Kate stopped screaming. What was the point? The silence pressed in on her, broken only by her own ragged breathing and the King’s oblivious, sawing-log snores. It was suddenly, terrifyingly real. She was truly alone with this monster.

“What… what do you want?” she whispered, her voice trembling, stripped of its earlier fury, leaving only raw, naked fear. “Money? Jewels? Is that it? Take them! Take anything! Just… just leave me alone! Please!”

Alaric laughed again, that low, genuinely amused sound that was somehow more frightening than any shout. “Money?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “My dear Queen, I probably have more gold stashed away than your entire, pathetic little kingdom is worth. I don’t need your trinkets.”

“Then what?” she pleaded, her mind racing. What did powerful men want? “Power? Secrets? Is that it? I… I can tell you things! About the court! About the other kingdoms! I hear things! Just… tell me what you want!”

“Oh, I’ll get secrets later,” he said, his voice turning into a low, silky purr. His hand, which had been still, started moving again. It slid down her stomach, slow as a snake, pausing just above the nest of dark curls between her legs. The implied threat was deafening. “Don’t you worry about that. We’ll have plenty of time for secrets.”

“But right now…”

He leaned down again. She felt the warmth of his breath on her lips, smelled his clean, male scent mixed with the lingering aroma of that strange, sweet wine he must have been drinking.

His lips brushed against hers, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of pure electricity through her paralyzed body.

“Right now,” he whispered, “I’m just here to satisfy you. Like I said.”

“Satisfy me?” she stammered, confused and terrified.

“Mmm-hmm,” he confirmed. “You sounded so… disappointed earlier. When you were talking to Reggie.” His voice was full of mock sympathy. “All that anger. All that frustration. It just… it broke my heart to hear it.”

“You… you heard that?” she gasped, a fresh wave of burning humiliation washing over her. He had heard her furious, private complaints? He had heard her call her husband useless? Tiny?

“Every pathetic whimper,” he confirmed, his voice a cruel, soft caress against her lips. “Every insult. Every curse. You have quite the vocabulary, your Majesty. Very… colorful. ’Scared little mushroom,’ was it? That one was particularly creative.”

“Get away from me!” she tried to twist her head away, to escape the intimacy, the memory, the shame. But the spell held her fast, her head locked in place.

“Why?” he whispered, his lips now pressing gently against hers. “Don’t you want me to fix what your husband broke? Don’t you want me to… finish the job?”

“He didn’t break anything!” she lied, her voice thin and reedy. “I… I was just angry! I didn’t mean it!”

“Were you?” he asked softly, his voice a hypnotic murmur.

And then, before she could answer, before she could even think, his mouth covered hers.

The kiss was nothing like the brutal, conquering assault he had given Eleanor. This was different. This was… art.

It was slow. Skilled. Insidious. Dangerously seductive.

His lips were soft at first, coaxing, gentle. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth, a polite request for entry, not a demand. His free hand came up, not to grab or restrain, but to gently cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin just below her eye. It felt… almost tender.

’No… no…’ her mind screamed, a last, desperate alarm bell. ’Don’t fall for this… he’s a monster… he’s playing with you…’

But her body… oh gods, her body was starving. It had been starved for a real touch, a real kiss, for so long. Reginald’s fumbling pecks were like dust compared to this. This was rain after a long drought.

Against her will, against every shred of her pride and her fear, her lips parted.

His tongue slid inside.

It wasn’t a rough invasion. It was a warm, silken glide. It tasted of power, and danger, and that strange, sweet wine. He explored her mouth with an expert’s confidence, his tongue dancing with hers, coaxing a response, making her head spin, making her forget where she was, who she was, who he was.

He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, his skill undeniable. He was a master of this, too. A master of seduction as much as he was a master of magic and, she suspected, cruelty.

And while he kissed her, while her mind was lost in the fog of that devastating kiss, his other hand resumed its work.

It slid down her body, past her navel, his fingers tangling gently in the soft curls between her legs.

He found her clit through the thin, torn silk of her ruined nightgown. And he began to rub. Slow, lazy, knowing circles that sent jolts of pure lightning through her paralyzed body.

A low, helpless moan escaped her throat, muffled against his mouth. It was the sound of her last wall crumbling.

She was kissing him back.

God help her, she was kissing him back. She was meeting the strokes of his tongue with her own, her body arching infinitesimally against the exquisite pleasure his fingers were creating. She was lost.

He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at her (though she couldn’t see him). She was panting, her lips wet and swollen, her eyes wide behind the magical darkness. Her body was humming like a tuning fork.

“See?” he whispered, his voice a low, triumphant purr. “Isn’t this better?”

She couldn’t answer. She could only pant, her body trembling.

“Who… who are you?” she asked again, her voice thick with unwilling arousal, desperate for an anchor in this storm.

“Does it matter?” he asked, his fingers continuing their exquisite, maddening torture between her legs. He dipped one finger just inside her, feeling her wetness. “Does a name make the pleasure any less real?”

“Yes! Tell me!”

“Later,” he promised. “Right now… I’m the man who’s finally going to give you what you need.”

He started kissing her neck again, his lips hot and wet, finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. He licked the shell of her ear, then blew softly, making her shiver violently from head to toe.

“You like that?” he murmured against her skin.

“Mmmph…” she couldn’t form words.

His other hand was back on her breast, kneading the heavy, soft flesh, his thumb and forefinger finding her nipple and rolling it, gently now, coaxingly, until she thought she would go mad from the sensation.

“This nightgown,” he murmured against her skin, his voice muffled. “It’s lovely. What’s left of it, anyway.” He chuckled. “But it’s still… in the way.”

With a sudden, decisive movement, he didn’t just tear it more. He ripped it.

Rrrrriiiiip.

The sound of the expensive black silk tearing was loud in the quiet room. He tore it right down the front, from the already ripped neckline all the way to the hem, and then tore the pieces away from her body.

The black silk fell away in shreds, leaving her completely, utterly naked on the bed. Her pale skin gleamed like marble in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. She was exposed. Vulnerable. And aching.

“Ah,” Alaric breathed, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. His eyes feasted on her, taking in every curve, every shadow. “There you are. Perfect.”

His hand left her breast and slid down her body again, slow and deliberate. This time, there was no silk barrier. His fingers traced the line of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip.

Then, his fingers sank into her wetness. She gasped, her hips trying to buck against the invisible binds, wanting more, needing more.

“So wet,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He slid one finger inside her, then another. “So ready. You really were disappointed, weren’t you?”

“Stop talking,” she whimpers, her voice a ragged plea. “Just… just…”

“Just what?” he teased, sliding his fingers in and out of her, mimicking the rhythm she craved. “Tell me what you want, your Majesty. Use your words.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. The pleasure, the anticipation, the sheer need… it was overwhelming.

“Just… do it,” she finally begged, the words a complete and total surrender. “Please… just fuck me.”

Alaric chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. “Not yet,” he said.

He pulled his fingers out, leaving her aching and empty. She let out a low whimper of protest.

He moved back up her body, hovering over her, his presence a heavy blanket of heat and power.

“You need to understand something first, your Majesty,” he said, his voice suddenly serious, the teasing note gone. “My pleasure… it comes with a price.”

A flicker of her old self, the sharp, calculating Queen, returned. She found a last shred of defiance.

“Think this through,” she said, her voice trembling but trying to sound firm. “Whoever you are. My husband… he is the King. He commands armies. If you do this… if you defile me… he will hunt you to the ends of the earth. He will not let you go. He will find you, and he will kill you.”

“Oh, I know,” Alaric said, his voice surprisingly calm. “He’ll try. Bless his incompetent little heart.”

“He’s not incompetent! He’s…”

“He’s useless,” Alaric finished for her, his voice flat. “We both heard it. You said it yourself.”

He leaned down again, his lips close to her ear, his voice dropping to a velvet promise of chains.

“But you’re wrong about one thing, Kate.”

“What?” she whispered, dread coiling in her stomach.

“By the time I’m done with you tonight, your Majesty,” he whispered, his voice a silken, inescapable trap, “you won’t be begging him to hunt me.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“You’ll be begging him to protect me. You’ll be my shield against that useless husband of yours.”