Dirty Lovely Broken

by Emmy Chandler

  “You think I didn’t want to shove my cock down her throat?” Malac demanded loud enough for Jude to hear him from down the hall, as he stomped into his private quarters and headed for his office.

  “I saw the footage,” Orlann said. “That’s exactly what you did to her.”

  “Yeah, once I’d spent an hour putting her back together, after you left her curled up in the fetal position.”

  Orlann snorted. “It’s not my fault she’s so fucking precious. Besides, she loved every second of it. She came three times.”

  “That’s not the—”

  “Malac.” Jude’s booming voice smashed through the tension like a sledgehammer as he stormed into the room. “All Orlann did was shove a little plug up her ass. She’ll take a lot more than that, before the month’s over.”

  Malac opened his mouth, but Jude cut him off. “And anyway, I saw you watching. You nearly came in your pants while he had her bent over the bed, fucking her with that thing.”

  “So, he’s allowed to send her into a psychological meltdown, but I’m in trouble for cuddling?” Malac paced across the room, angry energy emanating from every step. “No. Fuck that. I don’t tell you two how to spend your time with her, and—”

  “It sounds like that’s exactly what you’re trying to tell us,” Orlann interrupted, leaning back to lay his arms across the back of the couch.

  “—and we have no idea what Jude did to her, because he disabled the fucking camera feeds before he stormed in there and kicked me out.”

  The king marched straight to the liquor cart and poured himself a double.

  “The council gave her to all three of us, and if I want to stick around after I’ve shot my load, who the hell are you two to tell me I can’t?”

  “I’m your fucking king.” Jude slammed his glass down, sloshing amber liquid, and the sound echoed through the office like the crack of a rifle firing. “Sometimes you seem to forget that.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that I command my king’s army.” Malac let his words hang in the air, and they seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room.

  Jude advanced on him, rage storming in his ice blue eyes. “You have three seconds to walk that shit back before I walk it back for you.”

  Orlann stood. “Are you really threatening a coup over a few hours of cuddling with a whore?”

  “She’s not a whore,” Malac growled, holding his ground, despite both brothers facing off against him. “Unless you’re calling my mother a whore, too.” His focus narrowed aggressively on Orlann. “Which takes this conversation in a whole new direction.”

  Orlann’s expression didn’t soften, but he exhaled slowly. “No. Of course not. All I’m saying is that Maari’s just a woman. She’s not worth fighting over.”

  “She’s a fucking princess. Wars have been waged over the insult of men forgetting to fucking kneel before a princess in court.”

  “That was centuries ago. And the breach of etiquette was probably just a convenient excuse for men who already wanted to fight.” Orlann shrugged. “Now the princess kneels in front of you.”

  The memory of Maari on her knees with his cock in her mouth placated some of Malac’s anger. He turned back to Jude, attempting to appease his sovereign. “No, I’m not threatening a coup. As always, I serve at the pleasure of my king. My point is that you trust me to lead your armies. Your fucking fleet. To be Loborough’s sword and shield. So why wouldn’t you trust me to spend a few hours alone with a woman the council told me to breed?”

  “Because she’s smart and you want her too badly. Maari doesn’t want to be here, and if you go soft on her, she’s going to use that against us.”

  “So you’re just going to keep her naked and locked up in one room forever?”

  “We can’t treat her like a resident of the palace until she starts acting like one, Malac.”

  “And you think the way to accomplish that is to isolate her? To leave her alone and in tears, before your cum even dries on her thighs? Haven’t you ever heard the thing about catching flies with honey? That woman will do anything you tell her to, if you say it with a smile.”

  “And why do you think that is?” Jude demanded with another long sip from his glass. “Do you honestly think smiles and caresses would be so effective, if that’s all we’d given her? She’s lapping up your prince charming act because I threw her in the darkcell for three days. Because Orlann made her hold her own legs open while he played with her ass. You’re reaping the rewards of our efforts while you criticize the firm hands that made your adorable little slumber party possible.”

  “Why did you turn off the camera?” Malac demanded, his voice soft and calm, while his hard-edged, green-eyed focus challenged his brother—his king—to admit the truth.

  Jude’s gaze darkened like the sky before a storm. “I don’t fucking answer to you.”

  “One week, and you two are at each other’s throats over her.” Orlann sighed as he poured himself a drink. “She’s just one woman.”

  “If that’s what you both think, you shouldn’t care if I want to spend extra time with her.”

  “Fuck her all you want, as long as neither of us has a prior claim,” Jude said. “But—”

  “Lowest priority because I’m the bastard?”

  “Because you’re the youngest,” Orlann snapped. “If Lynna and Calla could breed her for Stead Camden, their claim would come after yours.” He drained his glass. “And if I have to hear one more goddamn word about the disadvantages of growing up a bastard, I swear I’m going to cut your balls off so there’s no chance of you producing one just like you. You grew up in the same fucking palace as—”

  “I’ve razed whole cities for you,” Malac growled, turning his appeal upon his older brother. “Slaughtered entire fleets.”

  “You did that for yourself,” Orlann insisted. “For glory, and to satisfy a bloodlust that manifested when you were still toddling around here in diapers, dragging dead cats down the palace halls.”

  “He pushes a pencil from behind a desk in Valemont, and his claim outranks mine?” Malac demanded, ignoring his middle brother.

  “That’s enough!” Jude roared. “Without Orlann making our case in the capital, the council might not have ruled in our favor. My head could be sitting in Gareth Delayne’s office right now.” Jude swung a one-armed gesture at the preserved head of his dead nemesis, which had found a place of dubious honor at the center of the long slab of onyx stretched across one side of the room, serving as a conference table. “Without his efforts in Valemont—which are just as vital to us as yours in battle—you wouldn’t have a royal concubine to cuddle with. So, as I said, fuck her all you want, as long as there’s no prior claim on her time. But no more slumber parties. You’re there to breed her and remind her of her place, not to set up house with her.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve dried all the tears I intend to dry today, Malac, so if the commander of our armed forces is about to throw a tantrum, he can go bawl on the floor in the family quarters, alongside my wife and daughters.”

  Malac seethed in silence and poured himself a drink.

  Orlann lifted one brow at Jude as he settled back onto the couch. “What went wrong in the estrogen suite?”

  “Rosa escaped the family quarters—again—and walked in on me and Maari.”

  Malac turned a puzzled eye on the king as he stoppered the decanter. “How the hell did she even find Maari’s room?”

  “How’d she access the damn door?” Orlann added.

  Jude drained his glass and poured himself another. “Evidently she snuck out of the family quarters while Violet was being bathed, and she used a spare com device I’d given her to track the one I was carrying.”

  “How the hell did she do that?” Malac asked. “She’s four fucking years old.”

  “Do you have any idea how smart a four-year-old is?” Jude took a long sip from his glass. “Last night we played hide-and-seek, and she doesn’t think it’s a fair game
until she has the advantage, so I gave her an old device, synced with mine, so she could track me. But I forgot to take it back after the game. Or to reset the permissions settings that gave me access to any door in the palace, when I carried the damn thing.”

  Orlann snorted. “So, your daughter continued a game of hide-and-seek and found you fucking your concubine?”

  “Our concubine,” Malac snapped.

  Orlann ignored him. “Admittedly, I don’t know much about kids, but isn’t four a little young for the birds-and-bees talk?”

  “It isn’t too young to be grounded for leaving the family quarters without permission,” Jude grumbled.

  “So, Geneva’s upset because you’ve ruined all her daughter’s pretty princess bedtime stories with a rewrite that shows the princess being locked up and stuffed with three cocks?” Malac snorted. “And Orlann’s excessive collection of toys?”

  Jude scowled at him. “No, Geneva’s upset because I’ve restricted her to the family quarters. Because while I was trying to explain to Rosa that Daddy wasn’t hurting his pretty new naked friend—much—she left Violet with the day nurse and went to see Maari.”

  “Oh, shit.” Orlann took another sip from his glass. “What did she say?”

  “I have no idea. I can see that she accessed the door twice—once upon arrival and once when she left—and that she was there for three and a half minutes. But I have no idea what she and Maari said to each other, because—”

  “Because you turned off the camera feeds in Maari’s room,” Malac said.

  Jude growled at him in warning.

  “I assume you asked Geneva what she said.”

  “‘Asked’ is a rather tame description of how that conversation played out. But she’s refusing to tell me.”

  Malac snorted. “So, exactly how red is her ass right now?”

  “Scarlet, for the moment, but it’ll probably be black and blue by the time she has to undress in front of the gynecologist this afternoon. She took her punishment like a champ, considering that I’ve never had to lay a hand on her before.”

  And, truth be told, holding Geneva bent over his lap while she tried not to shriek and scare her daughters in the next room had turned Jude on more than anything he’d ever done with his wife before. But a man couldn’t spank his wife just for fun. She had to deserve it, and until now, Geneva had been the perfect wife. Beautiful, obedient, and willing, if not eager.

  “But she still won’t talk, which is why she’s restricted to the family quarters, except for medical appointments, until she tells me exactly why she disobeyed my direct order and what she said to Maari.” Jude exhaled in a huff. “Our father managed a wife and a concubine perfectly well, without all this drama. Yet my respectful, compliant wife has suddenly become a disobedient, territorial shrew, and despite being pampered with orgasm after ground-shaking orgasm my concubine is a hellcat in need of declawing.”

  “Our concubine watched you decapitate her brother,” Malac pointed out. “And my mother accepted her place here because her place included a suite with access to a garden, an allowance, and freedom to come and go as she pleased, supervised by a guard detail.”

  “Your mother wasn’t a flight risk. She didn’t scream and slap people.”

  “She also wasn’t a princess. She viewed her position as a privilege. Maari views it as an insult. A humiliation.”

  “I don’t give a damn how she sees it,” Jude growled. “This is her life now, and there’s no fucking reason for her to fight that.”

  Orlann cleared his throat, and Jude knew a subject change was coming. “So, you’re going through with the in vitro?”

  “Yes. Against Geneva’s protests, based on her religious conviction. She believes any son we conceive through medical intervention—going around the Gods’ will for our family—won’t have divine providence, thus will never live long enough to sit on the throne. Basically she thinks I’m making her carry a child who will die before he can grow up.”

  Orlann shook his head and sipped from his glass.

  Malac huffed in exasperation. “Fucking hell, what unnecessary distress people put themselves through in the name of a millennia-old mythology.”

  Jude shrugged. “She can believe whatever she wants. But she will give me a son nine months from now.”

  “Just tell her that if the Gods don’t want her to get pregnant, the in vitro won’t work.” Orlann shrugged. “You can make anything sound like divine intervention.”

  “If only it were that easy with Maari.”

  “The cameras are still off.” Malac held up his com device to show Jude a grid of four blank feeds.

  “Shit.” Jude sank into his desk chair and tapped through a menu. “There. I’m on my way to go ask her what happened with Geneva, but my lovely wife isn’t getting off the hook until she tells me herself—”

  “Holy shit, Maari’s throwing a fit,” Malac interrupted, turning his com screen around to face the king again. “She’s destroyed her room. It’s actually kind of impressive.”

  A growl rumbled from deep in Jude’s throat as he pulled up the feeds on his own device. “What the hell does she think she’s doing?” He stood hard enough to throw his chair backward. “She should be fucking grateful for what I’ve given her.”

  Orlann huffed. “I’ve seen you destroy much more than a table and a couple of lamps, when you got pissed off.”

  “She is not the fucking king,” he roared. “That room isn’t hers to destroy.”

  “Isn’t it?” Malac arched one brow. “You’ve been quite clear about the fact that she’s not getting out of there any time soon. How do you expect her to express her anger?”

  “With the grace and dignity befitting a fucking princess,” Jude said.

  “Okay, I’ll handle this.” Malac stood. “She just needs a firm hand and another good orgasm.”

  “Sit,” Jude ordered. “If she doesn’t appreciate all the fine things we’ve surrounded her with, perhaps she doesn’t need such a nice room. Maybe getting fucked on the cold stone floor of the darkcell will teach her a little discipline and respect.”

  Orlann shrugged. “Works for me.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Worked the first time,” Orlann pointed out.

  “I’m telling you, if you smile at her a few times and let her think you’re kind, the first time you frown at her, she’ll fall all over herself trying to get that smile back. Even if she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “We’re well beyond that.” Jude slammed his com device onto his desk hard enough to crack the screen, then he stormed out of his office, as angry when he left as he’d been when he’d arrived.

  Jude threw open the door to Maari’s quarters for the second time in a single day, expecting to find her shredding her drapes, or maybe urinating in her bedding. Just to piss him off.

  Instead, though he found the room strewn with discarded bedding, overturned chairs, and broken glass, he saw no sign of its two occupants.

  “Maari!” he roared, kicking aside a torn lampshade. “Show yourself, before you piss me off any further.”

  “Go away.” The muffled voice came from the attached bathroom, and as he stomped toward it, the princess’s mousy little handmaid appeared in the bathroom doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, already red from being wrung in distress.

  “What the hell happened in here?” Jude demanded, and the frightened little thing backed away from him, eyes wide. “Don’t fucking run from me!” he shouted, and her legs stopped moving, even as her shoulders began to tremble. “Answer my question.”

  “Sir, please don’t hurt her.” The handmaid—Ava? —glanced up at him, then immediately lowered her eyes again. “She’s been through a lot today, and it was too much for her, but I managed to save the furniture. It’s mostly just overturned, though there is a sizable scratch on one of the chairs—”

  “Where is she?” The furnishings weren’t the point. There would always be more tables and chair
s, but that didn’t mean spoiled princesses could go around destroying everything they’d been given.

  Jude lifted the mousy handmaid and set her down in the bedroom, physically removing her from his path, then he stormed into the bathroom. Where he found Maari huddled in one corner of the shower, naked and bone dry, her tangled hair hanging in her face. Her shoulders shook with every hiccupping breath, and he realized that whatever fury had triggered the utter destruction of her quarters had passed, leaving her a quivering, distraught mess.

  That was a shame. Watching her rage in person would have kept his cock hard for a month.

  “Stand up,” he ordered. She clearly already knew punishment was coming. Why else would she be curled up in a ball, trying to hide from him behind her own hair?

  “Go away,” she repeated, and the words sounded nasal. Soggy, as if she’d chewed on them for a while.

  Growling, Jude lurched into the shower and hauled her up by one arm, unaffected by her shriek of protest. “You have two seconds to explain—”

  Maari burst into fresh sobs and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Snot and tears fell warm on his shoulder while she sniffled and, mystified, all he could think to do was hold her. Pull her so tight against him that he could feel every shudder wracking her small form as she sobbed.

  Yes, she’d been a very naughty concubine, and yes, she was in big trouble, but for the moment, she was pressed naked against him, of her own volition, and his suddenly aching cock didn’t care about the reason. Yet he knew that if he pushed her legs apart and pulled his dick out, she might scream his name as she spasmed around him, but that wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to know.

  Spanking Geneva hadn’t made her talk, and Maari was infinitely more stubborn than his normally dutiful and compliant wife. So Jude stroked her hair down her back, and for several minutes, he just let her cry, marveling over how good she felt against him. Wondering if it would be possible to provoke this reaction from her in the future—these beautiful tears and clinging arms—without requiring Geneva’s intervention.

  And finally, Maari’s traumatized blubbering began to resemble a halting, slushy attempt to communicate through her tears. “Please let me go. I can’t stay here. You have to send me home, please.”