by Plum Pascal
Don’t let them hear you scream, I think desperately. Bite your goddamn lip off if you have to, but don’t give them the fucking satisfaction, Kassidy.
The searing pain of claws I’m expecting doesn’t come. There’s the sound of a blunt, heavy impact, and then Nash is snarling again. When I dare to peek out from the corner of my eye, I see Nash with his hands in a defensive position as he fends off the sledgehammer blows Leith’s raining down on him. At first, they seem pretty evenly matched, until Leith manages to get inside Nash’s defenses, knocking him hard onto his ass.
“Enough!” Leith roars. “Have you forgotten I am king?”
“The law demands blood!”
“There’s another option,” a third voice drawls.
All assembled turn to face the new arrival. I don’t recognize his voice, but I can guess who it might be. Sure enough, when I swing my gaze to the archway at the edge of the courtyard, he’s standing there—tall and pale and just as impassive now as he was when he hit me. He’s not looking at any of us, instead examining his nails as though they’re of more note than anything we’re doing.
Of course, I’m not doing much, chained as I am to this pillar.
Leith straightens from his defensive crouch and grimaces at the newcomer. “What the bloody fuck are you talking about, Sorren?”
“There’s a precedent in the law for non-bear offenders,” Sorren responds with a shrug, his Scandinavian accent just as pronounced as is his cousins’.
“What precedent?” Nash demands.
“Do you recall the tale of Queen Oliviette?” Sorren asks.
Leith appears completely nonplussed. “The barbarian queen?”
“The very same.” Sorren elaborates for my benefit, reading the confusion on my face. “Queen Olivette was from a land of savages. She led her armies into battle against us, stealing from our royals. She was human, like you, and also like you, she was captured.” I can’t tell from Sorren’s expression if he’s having a go at me. “When it became quite apparent she wouldn’t survive the punishment, the kings of yore employed a ritual called the Rite of Three.”
A smirk alights on Nash’s lips, and I really don’t like that grin, no matter how attractive he may be. His eyes sweep over my body speculatively. I would give him a one-fingered salute if it wouldn’t expose more of me to his gaze. Instead, I clutch my hands tighter around by breasts.
Leith makes a dubious sound. “Yes, could work. But we need her consent. I won’t do it if she’s unwilling.”
“Unwilling to do what?” I ask, ashamed of the tremor in my voice. “What’s the Rite of Three?”
Leith exchanges a glance with his cousins. Nash looks positively eager to tell me and Sorren remains ambivalent, as though the answer is inconsequential.
Leith faces me then and sighs. “Queen Olivette surrendered her body to three princes for three subsequent fortnights in exchange for mercy for her and her people. It would mean you would pay your debt with your body, instead of your blood.”
“You would become a mistress to the three of us for six weeks straight, spending all your time in our beds,” Nash adds as he looks me up and down, clearly appreciating what he sees.
My stomach pitches and my eyes prick. This is my only choice? Die or surrender to the deflowering from men I don’t know? Give them something I’ve never shared with anyone? Not to mention the time away from the cause, from the Guild. Six weeks is a long time! With Morningstar threatening to break free from his prison any day now, I’m needed now more than ever before.
This isn’t fair!
I search Leith’s face. If it were just him, I could live with it. He’s been kindish thus far and would likely be gentle with me if I asked. But the agreement isn’t limited to just Leith. Nash and Sorren will each have a turn. I don’t know Sorren well enough to decide if I dislike him but I most certainly dislike Nash. In fact, I can’t stand him!
The look of anticipation on Nash’s face clinches the decision for me.
I turn my back to all three of them, clutching the stone pillar for dear life. Tears squeeze from the corners of my eyes as the cold burns into me.
“I’ll take my chances with your claws.”
THREE
Leith
Foolish, foolish girl.
She can’t know exactly the effect her words will have on Nash, but I can see the impact the moment they fly out of her mouth. The impertinence, the snub and implied insult of her refusal will send him into a fit. She doesn’t know that Nash’s beast is the worst of all of ours, forced to the surface by his father’s punishment years ago. Nash stayed in his bear form so long, he almost couldn’t come back. And now, the bear is more at the helm of Nash’s body than the man.
Even though Nash and Sorren are my cousins, we are close enough to be brothers. And, yes, I share the same surname with Sorren. Our grandfather bore three children—a daughter and two sons. One of those sons was my father—Albrecht Nord and the other son was Sorren’s father, Teague Nord. Sorren never had a claim to the throne because he was born a bastard, out of wedlock. As I have no children of my own, should something happen to me, Nash will be next in line through the bloodline of his mother, my father’s sister.
The question of the throne is a sensitive one as Nash has always believed it should have been him seated on the throne, not me. He discounts the fact that I bear the same name as my grandfather, and he doesn’t. He always believed his ability as a fighter and defender of our kingdom was enough to ensure his title, but the old ways are what they are and the kingdom is handed down through the father’s line, not the mother’s.
Rage spasms across Nash’s face and he lets loose a growl that shakes the stones around us. He stalks forward, blunt human nails sharpening into dark, curved claws, and he strips the flimsy underdrawers from the little thief’s body, leaving her completely bare, her pert little ass facing us.
It’s distracting, to say the least. She’s thin, but not in the way so many peasant girls are. She’s never been starved, but there’s no fat on her because she’s spent her life doing hard labor. Her legs are sturdy, though not long. I linger on the muscled curve of her thigh. She looks like she could take the brunt of a man’s passion between those thighs.
How long has it been since I’ve seen a human woman that could withstand a night in my bed? Too long.
Just above the curve of her hip is a gleaming tattoo. The gold ink stands out like a brand against her skin, depicting a shield pierced by both a broadsword and a wand, encircled by twinkling stars.
A Guild tattoo.
This woman is a Guild member. Fuck.
That fact stuns me for a half-second as the implications sink in. I haven’t seen a Guild member in fifteen years, since the end of the last Great War, when the kingdoms of Fantasia—ours included—voted to contain Morningstar and his armies behind a seal, trapping them in the ether. Most kingdoms then summarily banned magic and sought to disband the Guild.
We all know they’re still kicking around, of course. No royal decree will stop the fanatics of the Guild from insisting Morningstar will rise again. But I never thought to expect this. I thought the Guild was now just a band of fundamentalist fools, too tenacious for their own good, holding onto their need for vengeance with white-knuckled stubbornness. About as indoctrinated as the disciples of the new Wonderland religion, the worship of the Seven Joys.
But the arrival of this improbable girl throws the Guild into new light. It’s not just the old guard anymore. They’ve inducted new blood. The girl can’t be much over twenty, just barely old enough to remember the first war. She would have been recruited afterward. And that logically means there must be others. Yes, the Guild must hold onto more of its strength than we initially thought.
And if they’re sending a thief to acquire the Ambrosia we refuse to trade, it means it’s just as she said—she’s no opportunistic pickpocket looking for money or immortality. We get those periodically, avaricious types who seek longevity for themselves.
They’re often other shifters and occasionally fae, which is why the girl slipped past our guards unnoticed. We’ve been certain for years that no human was foolish or suicidal enough to try it.
She’s proved us wrong. Worse, she nearly got away with it. If not for Sorren’s network of tunnels beneath our village, she would have made a clean escape with her bounty. She’s tried to steal away with seventeen kilos of Ambrosia, enough to break down and spread among a small standing army. Which means only one thing.
The Guild intends to take the offensive, bringing war to Morningstar, should he and his brethren emerge. Fuck. What sort of retribution are we inviting from the Guild if we kill her?
Not that I’m planning on killing her because I’m not. And on that subject, I have a cousin to take control of…
Nash draws his arm back, ready to flay the skin between her shoulder blades before I catch his wrist.
“No, Nash!”
He whips his head toward me and he’s already partially shifted, straight nose elongating into a more ursine shape. The ruddy brown of his eyes bleeds into the golden brown of the bear’s.
“Unhand me, Leith. She asked for it, she’ll damn well get it!”
“Look at her, Nash!”
“I’m fucking looking!” But he’s looking at her ass. Not that I can blame him—it’s quite high and round.
“No, look!”
Nash’s fury doesn’t abate, but he does what I ask, raking his gaze over her body. My own beast rises to the surface, some latent possessive instinct pushing to the fore as I see clear appreciation in his eyes. He sees what I do. The strong, toned physique, the small, pert breasts. I wish she’d move her hands so I could see the lovely pink of her nipples once more. I ache for a taste of her. Ache to taste the cleft between her thighs, to see if she’s as sweet as she smells. Test my teeth against firm, quivering thighs as she reaches her peak, pussy clenching tightly around the two fingers I intend to push inside her.
I press my beast down with a soft snarl of frustration. I master my instincts, unlike Nash and Sorren. I control the bear; it does not control me. It’s the reason why I’m the only one fit to rule our clan. Nash’s impulses would lead our kingdom to ruin. And Sorren can’t discern right from wrong, not since the incident. Besides, a bastard has no right to the throne—it’s not a rule I came up with—it’s one that’s long existed.
So, it falls to me.
Nash finally spots the Guild marking, after lingering on her ass for a long stretch. And he reaches out to trace the tattoo with a claw. Goldilocks flinches like she’s been struck, letting out a soft yelp. She’s clearly terrified of him. Of all of us, no doubt.
Gods, when did we become such bastards? She’s a tiny thing, for fuck’s sake. Thirty or forty years younger than we are. Time should teach us the meaning of leniency. Instead, it’s only hardened us into inflexible monsters.
Remorse flickers in Nash’s dark eyes for a second before he spins her around. “When and how did you get this?” he demands as his eyes drop to her breasts and she colors instantly, reaching up to cover them, which leaves her bare down below. I spot the thatch of golden hair that covers her cleft and I feel my cock stir.
“The fucking Guild gave it to me!” she yells at him, face distorted in anger as she covers her breasts with one arm and her pussy with the other.
“Last I knew, the Guild didn’t employ thieves!” Nash insists, his eyes narrowed on the space between her thighs. I’m more than sure he got a brief view of the golden hair between her legs and he wants another.
Goldilocks’s eyes flash with fiery defiance, her jaw ticking in a way I can’t help but find attractive. Gods, her eyes are the loveliest shade of green I’ve ever seen. Too light to be called true emerald, not pale enough to be called sage. Almost the color of verdant grass. The color is comforting, like returning home.
“Then you’re behind the times, Ericson.” She says his last name with the intent to remind him it’s not my last name—the king’s last name. At least, I’m guessing such is her reason. She lets derision seep into her tone, unwisely baiting Nash again. “The Guild started employing thieves when the rest of Fantasia forced us to play dirty! We have sellswords and pirates now as well, if you’re interested.”
She shakes her head, tossing her golden curls, trying to come off as flippant. I can still smell the acrid bite of her fear, so I’m not convinced. Neither is Nash.
“So, if you’re done interrogating me, you can get back to the punishment,” she hisses at him, straining as far as her chains will allow her to get into his face.
For a second, I’m sure he’s going to kill her. Tension crackles hot and wild in the air between them. But then his gaze flicks down to her mouth, a soft growl building in his throat. And then I realize I mistook him. He’s not going to kill her…
Unless something stops him, he’s going to drive her to the stone and fuck her right here. There’s too much of the bear in him to overlook her challenge. He’ll fight her, win her, claim her.
I hook an arm around her narrow waist and draw her to my side, out of Nash’s reach. The snarl escapes him, a sound of protest instead of desire. He’ll thank me later, when he realizes how close he came to ravishing her. If any fucking is going to happen, it needs to be on her terms or not at all.
I dip my head so I can speak quietly into her ear. She shivers at my proximity and I sneak a guilty glance down at her chest. The rosy buds of her nipples are peaked, taut and yearning. Is it from the cold, or the pressure of my body?
“Surrender, girl,” I coax. “Surrender to the Rite of Three. It’s not such a high price, in the end. Six weeks in exchange for the rest of your life.”
“And if I become with child?” she demands.
The thought suddenly thrills me to my marrow but of course I can’t tell her as much—I’m not even sure why it does. Yet, the idea of her stomach swelling with my child… it’s a visual that fills me with warmth. “I swear on my honor, as a werebear and a king, we won’t finish inside you.”
She cranes her neck to look me in the eye. “You promise?”
“Yes. We won’t sire children with you. After your time is served, you bear no further obligation to any of us.”
She releases a shuddering breath and then turns to face me, pushing close to me so most of her petite body is covered by my coat. The top of her head barely reaches my sternum. I tense, waiting for her to reach for my weapon or otherwise try to harm me. I know she’s fast, and stronger than she appears. But she just continues to shiver.
She must be frozen. Nude in this weather? It’s almost as cruel as the lashes she’s being faced with. I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Cold slices through the thin cotton of my shirt at once, but I bear it. I have the blood of my beast to warm me. Her human constitution won’t last under the elements for long.
“All right,” she says in a quiet, somber whisper, “I’ll do it. Under one condition.”
I’m relieved. I didn’t want to see her come to harm. “Name it.”
She raises her eyes to mine. A look of aching vulnerability crosses her face. Without thinking, I slide my hands up to cup her jaw. I want to erase that expression, to replace it with pleasure.
“I’d like…” she starts but closes her eyes as though she hates the words exiting her mouth.
“What do you ask?”
She opens her eyes and those green gems glitter in the sunlight. “I’d like to choose the order.”
“The order?”
She nods. “If... if I agree to do this, I’d like to choose the order of the three of you.”
“Very well. What do you prefer?”
She swallows hard. “You first. Then Sorren. Then Nash.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nash’s face twist, clearly insulted at being placed last. Sorren’s face betrays nothing, impassive as ever. What in the name of Avernus is going on in his twisted mind now?
I face the small girl again, imagining her splay
ed before me, imagine feeling the down of the hair that covers her cleft and the taste of her when I stick my tongue deep inside her hole. “Done.”
She sways in place, clutching my coat as though it’s a lifeline. Then, she drops her gaze to the stones at her feet. “So... am I supposed to do this chained? Is a bed too much to ask for?”
Right.
Rutting her here in the courtyard is rather barbarous, even for a bear. I reach into the pocket of my abandoned coat and produce the key. I slot it into the lock of the manacles and twist until they fall away with a clatter. I wait for her flight, but it doesn’t come. She just steps closer, huddling into my side. She’s shaking—either with cold or fear, perhaps both. I don’t like it. She shouldn’t fear me. Not because I’m not worthy of fear, but because no one in my bed should dread being there.
I decide here and now, I won’t touch her until she asks. It’ll be a long, frustrating night in my quarters, but at least it will keep her from antagonizing Nash.
“We should go,” I say.
And so, we leave the frigid courtyard behind, stepping into the warm interior of the castle. I’m only half paying attention to the corridors as they fly by, trying to figure out what’s going on behind those beautiful emerald eyes.
But she’s as inscrutable as Sorren.
Scary thought, that.
FOUR
Kassidy
Stop being such a damn girl, Kassidy. You’re going to get through this! And you’re going to show these bastards you can’t be backed into a corner!
As pep talks go, it’s not my best. Still, there’s a ring of truth to it. I am acting like a damn girl. If I were a man, this wouldn’t make me squeamish in the slightest. If they were three werebear women, offering to fuck me in exchange for my freedom, it would be the sort of lascivious thing told in drinking establishments, instead of my worst nightmare.
It’s not as though you plan to go through with it anyway! I rail at myself.
