by May Sage
Emilia greeted him too, all smiles and congratulations. "So, you were serious when you said you could introduce little me to the king," she said then.
"I'm always serious, remember?" He paused, not wanting to insist if she wasn't having it. "We're still a bear short, you know."
She blinked. "I don't get it. There's plenty of pretty bears. Rich ones, too."
"Ash has his head too far up Demelza's ass to see anyone else. She's his mate. I'm only the third 'cause he'd picked me before she turned up. Doesn't hurt that she likes me well enough. Elza's quite content right now. She won't admit it, of course, but there's no way she'll voluntarily shake things up. Another woman means she might be losing some of Ash’s attention or whatever. But we can't exclude the bears, not without risking war. Wouldn't hurt to meet them."
She bit her lip, as she always seemed to when she thought things through. To give her a clearer picture, Archer added, "Not gonna lie, lassie. It's not easy, being between those two. They're bound together, soul and all. I'm a friend, someone they like, and something they both can have fun with. But you'd not be signing up for happily ever after with them. Just a front row seat at their talk show."
Emilia lifted her head. "What about you, then?"
He frowned, a little confused. "You say they're all about each other, right? Does that mean that I could have your attention, if they like me well enough?"
Archer wondered how he'd missed it. The fact that he liked the woman. He should have known when he'd bought the ribbon; but of course, he was a man of honor, and for what it was worth, he was in a relationship. A relationship that might last until the end of time. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, because what was the point?
"That isn't how it works. Sure, I play with Elza, too, but we'd be the king's consorts. You'd sign up to love the king."
She blinked. "How is that a problem? I don't see a problem here. Have you looked at him? I'm just saying, I'm not interested in a lifetime on the sidelines watching a romance show, while being used as a sex toy on the side when they feel like it. But if we can have something between us, then, by all means, I don't mind playing from time to time."
Archer didn't think anything he'd ever heard had made him feel quite so hard. He would have loved to bite her lips right then, and take her this very second, but he wasn't at liberty to.
"Where are the boys?"
Emilia looked around but he was the first to find them. "Raoul, Timun," he said, calling to his brothers. "You're babysitting."
On that note, he took the woman's hand and ran to the castle as fast as he could.
Epilogue
A year ago, he'd gone to Farden to find family.
He gotten that and then some.
Ash wore white, as was the way of the kings on such a day. He sat on his throne, before all three spouses. Elza, dark skin, black hair, and the greenest of eyes, right in front of him, in the middle. She wore a tall crown and a dress of the purest black. To her left was Emilia, in silver, with a diadem atop her head, and a blue ribbon in her brown hair. To the right was Archer, in gold. His wife and two consorts. The Three Weddings ceremony started with Ash joining Elza, and in the tradition, linking their hands and exchanging their blood through a slit on their palms. Then, he should have done the same with Archer and Emilia, but he'd changed the ceremony. First, Archer and Emilia were joined in the same fashion, blood and heart. Then, Elza was bound to Archer, Ash, and Emilia. Finally, Emilia joined Elza, and Ash bound his fate to Archer. Ash couldn't lie. Seeing his mate kiss the other women never failed to arouse him. Ever. Regardless of how many times he'd witnessed the event now.
The complicated affair went smoothly. The master of ceremony certainly deserved a tip for getting everything straight. They should have called it the Five Weddings, but it wouldn't do to rewrite the charters. Too much effort.
"Finally. You're officially mine now," Emilia said to Archer, getting on her tiptoes and kissing his nose.
"And mine," Ash pipped in.
"And mine," said Elza, waving her hand enthusiastically. "I suppose we're supposed to get the whole pesky little consummation thing out of the way now."
Emilia rolled her eyes. They'd already done so many, many times since she'd been introduced to them a month ago.
Emilia was reserved, sweet and submissive, something their trio had desperately needed, although they may not have noticed. They'd all been about taking, claiming, needing, until the bear shifter had joined them. But dominants changed in the presence of submissives, naturally becoming more caring, softer around the edges. The nasty sex turned into love making. There were more caresses and kisses. Ash would never forget the night he saw Archer take Emilia, while Elza rode the woman's tongue; he'd wanted to watch for a time, but the next instant, he was climbing behind Archer and plunging inside him, wanting, needing, to feel the softness, join the melee. By all the gods, Elza was delicious, but Archer's ass was so incredibly tight. His vision had blurred, and he didn't think he lasted longer than a couple of minutes. The first time. But it wasn't simply the sex. Emilia also settled arguments with just one sigh, a simple smile, a hand on their arms. She anchored and balanced their explosive trio.
And to think that Ash had almost run from Demelza, from all of this. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him that fate didn’t make mistakes. It had matched him with an older, more experienced woman, who had desires and appetites that suited his needs in every way. Perhaps more importantly yet, with the one woman who could truly unify the kingdom. Elza would always be a princess of Farden. She was bound to its queen, as well as Rhey’s kin. In this time, with a fate worse than war on the horizon, unity among their kind was primary.
The night of their wedding was sweet, courtesy of Emilia. Then, Emilia and Archer returned to Wolf Mountain and Elza and Ash were back to riding each other like they were trying to walk inside each other's skin. When Elza travelled to Farden, Ash often had Archer to himself, as Emilia felt awkward about joining in without Elza.
He couldn't say he disapproved.
It was on such a night that a guard burst into their room, catching them in a rather embarrassing position.
“Your highness! A scout came back from the Sands. He’s resting as we speak—he rode all night to get to us. But he says he’s seen the goddess.”
* * *
The End
Next in the Tale of Midgard: Gold and Shadow.
Gold and Shadow
Nivienne has roamed the lands of men, elves and dragons alone for twenty lifetimes.
Her dark twin is almost all powerful, but Nivienne has two weapons in the form of the dashing elven princes at her side: her fated mate, and her sister’s.
No one said it had to be a fair fight.
* * *
Turin and Argon think they understand the agenda of the Aether Goddess tied to their dreams and nightmares. They have no idea what she’s capable of doing for the greater good.
More from May Sage
This was how she died. She knew it, felt it to her bones. There was no other way, not here. Saving herself would mean condemning every breathing soul in the city of night. As little as she liked most of them, and however much they hated her in return, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy so many just to save herself.
She should give in now. Drop her bow, accept her fate. Yet she shot one arrow after the next, desperately holding on to life.
Devi took down enemy after enemy, her mind processing each kill with a cold, analytic indifference. They were relevant because she knew there had been fifty-one arrows in her quiver. Each fae she killed represented one arrow lost. There was every chance she'd run out of weapons before she reached the gates.
She was at the very center of the city, in the large Square of Dawn, famous for the obelisk erected at the end of the last war. The closest exit was a mile east, and there were three dozen enemies around her right now and more coming at every passing moment. It was a credit to her skill with a bow that none of them had manag
ed to get close to her yet.
A horse whinnied to her left, and Devi’s head turned sharply. She expected enemy knights. She’d managed until now because she’d only had to deal with foot soldiers; fae knights were another matter altogether.
When they came into the square from the south avenue, there were only two riders. She stiffened in alarm, until her eyes took in the colors of their habits and then their faces.
Devi had no issue recognizing the two males, although she’d never seen either dressed in anything other than their fine court attire. Now they wore plain reinforced gear under dark unseelie coats.
Neither of them looked any less intimidating for it.
“Vale.”
The name fell from her lips in a tone she had never used to say it. With relief. Barely conscious of her decision, she adjusted her position to aim at the enemies following Vale and his second, rather than foolishly carrying on attempting to clear a path out of this nightmare. Vale was more important. If he lived through the night, there would be hope for the Isle.
Her shot hit the mark, killing a fae right behind the prince. As the enemy tumbled, Vale turned to see where the arrow had come from, his eyes landing on her.
He was on the other side of the square, but her vision could distinguish him quite clearly. For the first time since they’d met, he wasn’t amused. His trademark smirk had disappeared. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise given the circumstances, but his expression wasn’t what Devi might have expected. Vale wasn’t confused, shocked, or scared, unlike her. The dark prince seemed downright pissed right now. His violet eyes, so like his mother’s, watched her with pure fury.
Devi’s heart hit her stomach. Was this her fault? Had the attacks started because of her? It wasn’t impossible at all, given her history.
Then, to her astonishment, Valerius Blackthorn, the dark prince, lord of the court of sin, lifted his hands, pulling on the reins to turn his horse away from the road leading to the eastern gate. Away from safety. Instead of heading out, he rode at full speed toward her. Her. The half-breed who was “nothing,” according to him.
Devi regained her senses just as he reached her, in time to take his hand and hop behind him on his black mount.
“Fucking idiot!” he yelled before leaning forward and whispering sweet spells at the horse, who obeyed his master’s urging, rushing through the streets of the city of night.
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Twenty-four years ago.
* * *
“Kai,” Balu whispered, waking him up instantly. It didn’t take much to pull him from his light, restless sleep. Bad things happened to those who didn’t stay on their guard in Haimo. “Kai, he’s coming.”
The boy stiffened at his friend’s warning. Balu needn’t specify who he meant when he said “he” that way. “He” was Master Hora.
Akia Tai Hora was the fat, indulgent noble who owned Haimo. Yes, the entire planet. His ancestors had come from a trade background, and prospered so much through the entire sector that a warlord of old had declared them dukes of Haimo, a then unclaimed, yet rich planet-wide territory.
Lord Hora didn’t visit all his slaves’ homes. Kai’s was different in many respects, and a little nicer than most. Although she was owned by Akia, the female who lived there had a few slaves at her service. Mae, Kai’s mother, and lady of this home, was no doubt the most exquisite female amongst the slaves. She had smooth, spotless, golden skin and long dark hair—a rare physical characteristic in their land—and a mouth that didn’t need any rouge. She certainly looked nicer than Akia’s noble wife. Thus, as their lord and master, he used her as he saw fit. Even at nine years old, Kai knew of these things.
No one had told him, but he’d guessed, with repulsion, that the fat noble was his biological father. Many clues had led him to that conclusion. For one, in looks, he was quite similar to Veli, the master’s legitimate son. Kai was a little darker, with black eyes and hair like his mother, but their features were nonetheless similar. Secondly, Kai had long ago realized that he was treated quite well for a slave. Boys his age normally labored in the dangerous mines or in the fields—a hard, relentless work. Haimo was situated far from the sun of their system, making it the coldest planet in their world. But instead of being condemned to such work, Kai, at age six, when he’d been deemed old enough to work away from his mother, had been sent as an apprentice in the forges.
Akia also had an interest in him. He talked to him and sometimes even ruffled his hair. Kai thoroughly washed after such distressing occurrences. And then there was his name. Akai, he’d been called, by someone so lazy they’d simply flipped around his sperm donor’s name to form his. He started demanding to be called Kai right after connecting the dots.
Kai jumped out of his bed, and promptly proceeded to hide his things—things he made from scraps he found everywhere. Pieces of metal, broken glass. Anything he found that could be of use, he kept and fashioned into something else. His mother called him her little artist.
From time to time, Akia came to his room, and he’d order him to keep the trash away. Kai had never received a beating for disobedience, but he’d seen others take one. Two winters past, he’d seen a grown-up die after a workmaster struck him with an energy whip. Five blows was all it had taken. Kai certainly didn’t wish to gamble away his life that way. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but Kai really did wish to live. Although perpetuating his harsh existence might have seemed pointless, he had hope. Hope for something more someday. He’d heard of slaves who’d earned their freedom. Why not him?
Balu helped. The boy put things in his trunks and polished his boots as Kai washed his knees and hands with soap. Balu was eleven, having two years on Kai. The boy had made it out of an accident in the mines a year ago, but it had left him weak and with just one leg. Kai had watched his mother kneel in front of master Akia upon Balu’s behalf. “He’ll do just fine in the house as there’re no stairs,” she told him. “He’ll work.”
Kai understood why she’d begged that way. If she hadn’t spoken for him, Balu would have been shot. For his own good, the workmasters would say. Then, they’d mince him and give his flesh to the vepkhia or the nekos used in the arena games. Occasionally feeding them Evris flesh made them more vicious, hungry for more of it.
Akia wasn’t the worst master. He’d sighed at Mae’s request, but he let the boy heal and then sent him to their home. Kai was glad; he’d never had a friend before. The other children hated him because they knew. They saw it in his eyes; they might be dark like his mother’s, but their shape didn’t lie. He was the pampered master’s bastard.
Kai hurried downstairs, keeping his gaze on the floor once he’d reached the master.
“Ah. Here he is. Getting bigger every time I see him.”
Kai didn’t reply, knowing the remark wasn’t for him. “Yes, sir,” said Mae Lor, always formal and deferential.
“Do you work well at the forges, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Kai echoed, talking now that he’d been addressed directly.
“Good, good. Come here. Take this.”
He held his hand up and received a bronze coin for his effort. A fortune.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.”
This, he knew, was his clue to leave the room, leave the house. He was dismissed. The master had business with his mistress.
Kai ran. There was nowhere for a boy to go at six in the morning, but he ran. He’d reached the end of the village, arriving in front of the endless barren landscape where white dunes extended as far as his eyes could see, and then further still. There was no town on the planet, just the Hora residence surrounded by simple, flat roofed, identical buildings where he kept the men and women he’d purchased to work until they died. The contrast between the off-white homes with rustic materials and the golden palace with all its towers and domes couldn’t be overstated.
Kai had never stepped in the palace. Later that day, he would.
* * *
He’d lef
t so fast he hadn’t taken his coat, mittens, or the brown hat his mother had knitted him the previous week for his birthday. To keep warm, he moved constantly, blowing hot air on his hands. He was used to the cold, but in the dead of the Haimo winter, it was biting.
“Little Akai?”
The familiar voice calling him belonged to old Kumi, one of the few females with wrinkles on a well-worn face. Their way of life didn’t lead to longevity.
The elder didn’t ask what he was doing out by himself at this hour; instead, she waved his way. “Come on in, I’ll give you something hot.”
He practically tripped in his hurry to accept that invitation. She made the best root and spices drinks.
An hour later, wearing Kumi’s scarf, he headed to work. He liked it at the forge.
Haimo was a mineral planet, so most of the slaves went down to the mines to dig out ray crystals. Those laboring at the surface cut and loaded humongous blocks of stone—granite, limestone, alabaster—onto cargo ships. The riches of Haimo were sold all over the galaxy, even to the Imperials.
The very best crystals, the rarest stones, and all of the fyriron were kept and sent to the forges. Fyriron was silvery and smooth, yet stronger than gold. It took a higher temperature to melt it, and Kai had heard that only a handful of forges in the galaxy were equipped to cast it. The weapons they formed were meant for warlords and kings.
Kai rushed to his station, not bothering to disturb the head of the forges with a greeting. Isha Lor, his uncle, didn’t care much for civilities in general, and it was twice as true when he was sharpening a newly made blade. There was that look in his eyes, pride and sadness all mixed together. Isha loved his craft, but while he might create these masterpieces, it wasn’t his name engraved in one corner; it was their master’s. The half dozen of workmasters stationed in the forges served as a reminder of their position in this world.
