Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Closing his eyes to bare slits, Viltori rose, dragging Drahka with him. “I have no idea. Given that her family color is crimson, it should be red.” He paused. “Ah. It’s white so that any House who gains the throne can turn the room to their own family color.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To wash up.”

  Getting clean was never so much fun. Again, they playfully wrestled for control of the soap, then spent an inordinate amount of time cleaning each other’s cocks. Drahka wanted to come again, and this time in Viltori’s wicked mouth, but Viltori pushed him back.

  “We can’t use everything up this morning,” Viltori said, leaving behind the jet of water. “Think how furious Bithia will be if we are both drained utterly dry.”

  Drahka considered that his chosen would be upset if they could not give to her at least once. After a moment, he asked, “Will she be upset that you and I gave to each other without her?”

  Viltori considered with a frown, then smiled as he rubbed a towel briskly against his golden hair. “No. I imagine Bithia would thoroughly enjoy hearing a detailed description of what we did while we pleasure her.”

  Drahka grinned. “I at her front, you at her back.”

  “Don’t get me all hard again.” Viltori punched Drahka’s shoulder.

  “Will you give to her?” Drahka tossed his towel aside.

  Viltori wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I cannot.”

  “If you did to her what I did to you, no child would come of that.” And after feeling the delicious tightness of Viltori, he would like to feel Bithia that way too.

  “It’s not just that.” Shaking his head, Viltori took his towel and Drahka’s and threw them over a bar inside the bathing unit. “And it’s not just that she’s your chosen.” Digging through a pile of clothing on the floor, separating out his clothing from Drahka’s, Viltori said, “I need more.”

  “What more?”

  “A commitment.” Viltori tossed him his clinging pants with a smirk.

  “You didn’t need one with me.”

  At that Viltori reddened. “It’s different between you and me.”

  Before he could ask why, Viltori turned away, cutting him off.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken, Viltori dressed quickly and practically threw Drahka’s clothing at him. He wanted to get out of the empress suite. The smell of the three of them exacerbated deep-seated longings and dreams that he was just now starting to think weren’t impossible, but still, he didn’t trust his heart not to go too far. Moreover, he had to admit, he wanted to see Rown. Their gossip sessions had become such a part of Viltori’s mornings he felt bereft without them.

  Showing off Drahka was just an added benefit.

  Viltori knew Rown would be honored to meet Bithia’s consort. He also had a feeling that Rown would be fascinated by Drahka and thoroughly smitten. Just like Viltori was himself. As he pulled on his plain brown trousers, he sighed.

  Viltori owed Drahka a better explanation, but he simply couldn’t summon the energy to explain why a commitment from Bithia was different. It seemed rude to tell Drahka that Bithia had power where Drahka did not. In the Onic Empire, power mattered. Last night was a perfect example. If not for Bithia’s protection, the two elite men that Viltori had rejected could have killed him, or worse, without repercussions.

  Viltori had witnessed the results of the more horrific punishments the elite inflicted on disobedient slaves. It didn’t matter that he did not belong to them; the elite took the position that all servants should bow to their wishes.

  Viltori survived because he trusted the commitment he had with Bithia. However, that commitment was fragile and he wanted something stronger. Empress Bithia was well known for her fornicating ways. Not a woman in the empire fucked like the empress. But her fancies were notoriously fleeting. What she desired today she cast aside tomorrow. Viltori understood why she was the way she was, and he firmly believed he and Drahka could keep her completely entertained for a lifetime, but he wanted a fully binding commitment first.

  A flush of admiration washed through him, remembering the way Bithia stood up not only to protect him, but all those cast in the unwanted role of servant. Despite the nasty comments, Bithia wasn’t a woman interested only in her own gratification. Beneath the image of a self-absorbed pleasure-seeker she so vigilantly projected was a woman who cared about her subjects, a woman who cared about her empire. Below all the boredom and disdain, she was a woman who cared so deeply it frightened her. Bithia needed exactly what she had: two strong men to stand by her side and show her that she alone could rule.

  Viltori saw the dichotomy of that idea. If Bithia was truly strong, she wouldn’t need anyone, let alone two men, but Viltori knew great changes loomed for the empire. Bithia could not face them alone. If she were brave and bold, she could change the world. The passionate love of two men would bolster her to meet the challenges. Not a one of them could live to the fullest without the other two. He knew that truth right down to his bones.

  Bithia truly wanted the best for her citizens, no matter if they were servants or members of the upper class. Something about her calm pride, the way she’d stood tall and faced down a room full of rejection, confirmed what he’d felt since he’d seen her—Bithia would bring changes to the Onic Empire. Viltori desperately wanted to be by her side when she did. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that he needed a firm commitment from Bithia before he could proudly stand beside her. If she never offered out her body in bonding, then he would be relegated to her shadow. Eventually the darkness would drive him away. As much as he loved Drahka, he would not be able to live as Bithia’s servant.

  Viltori paused then, watching Drahka dress. He hadn’t told him how deep his feelings went, not that he didn’t want to, because he did, especially this morning as they’d tussled under the glowing red covers, but he couldn’t tell Drahka he loved him until he knew if Bithia was courageous enough to stand up and take them both as consorts. As sad as Viltori felt by withholding the truth from the man he loved, he would feel worse to tell Drahka only to fade away if Bithia didn’t claim them both. Viltori knew that his relationship with Drahka hinged on Bithia.

  Ambivalent, his heart wanted to believe she was strong enough to rise above the disdain, but alternately he despaired that she would relent and maintain the status quo.

  “Who is this man you wish me to meet?” Drahka struggled with the echalle. As he lifted one strap around his hip, the opposite strap whapped him across his balls.

  Viltori winced at the sight and sound of elastic slapping his sac.

  Snarling, Drahka slipped it off, glaring at the tiny scrap of fabric that barely covered his palm. “I would like to meet the one who designed this and force him to wear it!” Crushing the silky red astle in his fist, Drahka swore, “I would make him put it on, then watch him dance as I yanked upon the straps.”

  Laughing, Viltori snatched the garment from his hand. “I thought Bithia was going to set fire to this thing?” As much as he liked the way the unique garment displayed Drahka’s commanding genitals, he didn’t wish to have it block his access later, when the three of them came together again. He tossed the echalle aside. Viltori’s only hope lay with frustrating Bithia so much with longing for him that she made him her consort. Frustrating her access to Drahka would help, but he didn’t wish to be blocked himself. Again, he sighed. Viltori found it difficult to dance the line between lust, longing and a committed lifetime.

  Drahka laughed and pulled on his formfitting pants. Once he had them up and fastened, Viltori realized he didn’t need the echalle to show off his amazing cock. Whatever the fabric of his trousers, it molded around him, clinging to every muscle the man possessed, which was a prodigious amount. Viltori forcefully kept his tongue in his mouth but, left to its own devices, it would be hanging out the side as he followed Drahka wherever he wished to go, panting all the while.

  Cupping his b
ulge, Drahka said, “You had your chance under the water.”

  “I’ll get another chance later.” Viltori pulled his own pants on, but they did little to cover up his semi-hard state.

  Greedy beyond the grist of the gods, Viltori wanted all of his dreams to come true. He didn’t think he could settle for less. He wanted Bithia and Drahka as his mates. Not just in words or body, but by law. Viltori wanted a decree that gave him the right to them, just as that decree gave them the right to him. Viltori did not want to agonize over the father of Bithia’s children—if both of them were legitimate consorts, then paternity wouldn’t matter. Only with that kind of commitment could he give to Bithia in the manner Drahka and she wanted.

  “You sigh like an old woman.” Drahka pulled his long hair back, then tied it with a strip of red leather. “Have you seen my shirt?”

  Viltori didn’t realize that as he ruminated he kept sighing. “I am frustrated this morning.” He cast his gaze around. “I do not see your shirt.”

  “Then I will go without it.” Drahka stepped near. “I could give to you again.” He cupped Viltori’s bottom with one massive hand. “I would still be ready for Bithia this night.” He placed his mouth right to Viltori’s ear and breathed, “I feel I could give to you all day. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast.”

  As good as that sounded, and as good as the moist heat of his hand felt, Viltori reluctantly shook his head. “We can’t spend all our time in bed. Think how it would look that Bithia is out running the empire and we’re in here running around naked?”

  “You do have a way with words, my friend.” Drahka clapped his hand to Viltori’s shoulder. “Now lead the way to this man you wish me to meet.”

  The hallways narrowed dramatically by the time they reached the tishiary. Fewer decorations covered the walls too. Mostly more ghastly paintings of masters offering out the sweet benediction of their touch to their humble servants. Viltori rolled his eyes but stopped short of sighing.

  Drahka considered the paintings as they passed, but he thought the people depicted were ready for sex. “Look at the way he stands above this woman, grabbing her head. He wishes her to take his cock into her mouth.”

  Viltori laughed, because in a way, that did seem to be what was going on. “He’s touching her head, not grabbing it, and see how she is in darkness while he is in light, and the way she’s looking up at him with that worshiping vapidness on her face?”

  Drahka narrowed his eyes and peered closely at the painting. “I see, but does this try to show that her master is her god?”

  At that, Viltori laughed so hard he almost doubled over. “I think that’s exactly what they are trying to convey. All slaves should worship their masters.”

  “A subservient slave is the only natural way.”

  Viltori’s head turned. One of the two men from last night, still dressed in his best blue-green suit, although it was now wrinkled and stained, stood at the end of the hall that led into the tishiary. Bloodshot eyes and twisted strands of brown hair indicated he hadn’t slept well, if at all. Perhaps he’d spent the night worrying that whatever punishment his friend received, he would get too. This was the less bold of the two, the one who had blocked the door, the one Viltori had thumped in the chest.

  “You see how that worthless slave bows down?” He lifted his chin to the painting, his spicy scent of humiliation wafting through the air. “That’s what you will do to me.” The man pointed to the floor, just like his companion had last night.

  Drahka puffed out his chest while lifting himself up. Merciful gods but he damn near took up the entire hallway! Before he could speak, Viltori shook his head slightly, trying to convey to him that fighting with this man wasn’t worth the effort.

  Rather than engaging the man in an argument, Viltori stepped forward, as if to walk by him, and that’s when over ten men, dressed in almost the same color as the man he’d slighted, stepped up behind the first.

  Danger sent warning signals up Viltori’s spine, causing his breathing to accelerate right along with the pace of his heart. Turning to the hallway behind them, he gritted his teeth when he saw another ten men. Obviously they’d been following them, waiting for the right moment to stage their attack. Viltori might have noticed, but for his churning thoughts and the thoroughly distracting Drahka.

  Drahka quickly assessed the situation. Without hesitating, he crouched into a fighter’s stance, just as Viltori had taught him in the training rooms. That round of exercise had been just about fun, but now they would need every skill they possessed. Two men against twenty. Viltori wasn’t a coward, but the smartest thing they could do was run.

  “So, you were once a recruit.” The man examined him up and down, smirking at him.

  Viltori knew he should not have bragged about that when he hit this man in the chest. “This is between us. Leave the other men out of it.” He doubted the man was looking for a fair fight, but Viltori thought it was worth trying.

  The man’s snorting laughter said it all. Then, his face split into a nasty grin. “You can save your friend there, and all you have to do is get down on your knees and suck my cock.” He paused for a moment. “While all these good men watch, you are going to be the humble slave you should have been last night.”

  Behind the group of men he saw Rown, hand to his mouth, his face twisted with worry. None of the blue-green man’s people had noticed him. Viltori wanted to warn Rown away, but doing so would only bring attention to him.

  Casually, Viltori moved toward the man. When everyone stiffened, ready to strike, he lifted his hands submissively. “In order to do as you ask, I need to be close.” Lowering his head, he added, “I can hardly suck your cock from over here.”

  “Do not do this, my friend.” Drahka placed his hand on Viltori’s shoulder. He absorbed everything he could from the power of that gesture.

  Whispering, Viltori told Drahka, “When I give the word, run. Run as fast as you can back to the empress suite.”

  “I will not leave you!” Drahka tried to whisper but his deep voice carried.

  “Perhaps it would be better to have him do it.” The man pointed at Drahka.

  Confusion filled the faces of some of the men surrounding him. It was one thing to abuse a slave, quite another to do so to the consort of the empress.

  “Oh, fear not, my brothers, he is not her official consort after all.”

  Every nerve in Viltori’s body went on alert.

  “In the circle, just a short while ago, the bonding between Bithia and Drahka was declared invalid.” A wide and thoroughly malevolent grin transformed the man’s face into something beyond evil. “As far as his status goes, he is simply a barsita.”

  The derogatory term referred to anyone not native to Diola. Viltori considered calling the man a liar, but his gut told him he wasn’t. That Drahka had not completed the bonding ceremony by climaxing in full view of the audience meant he wasn’t really her official consort. Viltori had no idea what laws stood to protect Drahka as a visitor.

  With a dismissive wave of his hand, Viltori uttered a bark of laughter. “He is favored by the empress, as am I.” Drilling his intense gaze directly into the man’s eyes, he added, “Do you really think Bithia will change her mind based on a technicality with a ritual?” Viltori pointed at Drahka. “Look at him.” He took a moment to follow his own advice. Drahka was the most massive and exquisite hunk of man ever to grace the planet. “I don’t think Bithia will trouble over it longer than it takes her to arrange for a new ceremony.”

  Chancing a quick glance to Drahka’s face, Viltori realized he was gritting his teeth to hold back a response. Never should he have found out like this. The man had timed his revelation to have the most hurtful impact on Drahka. To his credit, Drahka controlled himself, but just barely. Then, to Viltori’s shock, he spoke.

  “I will suck your cock.” Drahka took a step toward the man, who backed up, fear wiping away his ruthless grin. “But first you must let him go.” He pointed to Viltori.


  Viltori had the same reaction Drahka had had. He wasn’t going anywhere without his friend. And then he realized this man didn’t want what he said he did. He wasn’t going to let either of them near his penis, not when they could simply bite it off. They were going to die in this hallway. All this was just a way to increase their torment before they killed them.

  “Bithia will put you to the stone,” Drahka said. He cast his hypnotizing gaze to each man, weighing him, measuring him, dismissing him. Each of them received a full measure of Drahka’s intense gaze. “If you continue, you are exchanging your lives for ours.”

  The leader of the men laughed. “Not if all the Houses join in rebellion against her.” Glancing about his brothers, he added, “None welcome the rule of a yondie empress.”

  Even if Bithia condemned them to death, it would do him little good at this moment. They needed help, and they needed it now. As the two groups stepped into them, forcing him and Drahka back-to-back, Viltori screamed out to Rown, “Run! Run and tell Sterlave!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A whirl of activity left Bithia pressed against the wall of the physician’s office, her heart breaking, her senses reeling. A swarm of people dressed in gray fell upon Drahka and Viltori, speaking in words she didn’t understand as they labored to save their lives. Coolly calm, she let their professionalism pacify her. They were not frantic bundles of fear like she; they moved quickly, their words short and clipped, but they did not panic.

  Never in her life had she ever seen so much blood. Viltori’s once-white shirt was maroon, ripped down the center as they did something to his chest. Drahka’s hair dripped crimson in fat, sluggish tears. Idly she noticed he was shirtless, but that only exposed the fact that someone had cut knuckle-deep grooves across his mighty chest.

  Unable to bear anymore, she turned away, and her gaze fell on a man just outside the doorway. Tall, muscular, with finger-length brown hair and dressed in loose black trousers, he gave a series of orders to the guards who had brought in Drahka and Viltori. Without hesitation, the men marched off to do his bidding. When he turned, his gaze fell upon her, and she knew at once that she could trust this man. Something in his stance, something about the way he looked at her with concern and respect, told her everything she needed to know.