Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  Cirilla groaned, her face flushing a richer scarlet as she sank back and accepted him smoothly inside. Her insides were soaked and ready in a way Leo hadn’t thought possible sans foreplay, but he soon forgot his astonishment as his wife began to move. Cirilla rocked against him, her hands still holding his in place. The only change was in the intensity of her grip. Her nails dug urgently into his skin as she fucked her way toward a greedy, self-centered climax.

  Leo was not one to complain. While there was something to be said for the patient, mutually gratifying give-and-take of ordinary lovemaking, the normal rules did not apply to such atypical circumstances. If he was expected to satisfy all three of the women in his bed, he would need every advantage he could get. Glancing from side to side, he grinned as he met Nyssa and Karran’s gazes in turn.

  “You look impatient,” he teased. “Care to lend a hand?”

  Cirilla hardly seemed to notice his words, though she certainly noticed what followed. Her half-shut eyes snapped open as Leo pried his hands free of her grasp and slid them down, past her slightly pregnant midsection, to the tangle of dark curls below. But for all the suddenness of her reaction, it was nothing compared to the gasping moan that spilled from her lips as Nyssa and Karran pounced from either side. The pair kissed playfully at the woman’s neck, their hands cupping and kneading her breasts as she swayed atop Leo’s ever-grinding hips.

  It was too much for the woman to endure. Slowly at first, then with greater and greater desperation, Cirilla squirmed against Leo’s rhythmic thrusts. Her insides clenched around him. Then, with a sudden, demanding groan, she grabbed his fingers and shoved them hard against her clit.

  “Jerk,” she growled. And then, before he could muster a reply, her insincere scowl melted away to a look of abject bliss as she gave herself over to moans and shudders of delight.

  Leo swallowed his laughter as he continued to grind through his wife’s orgasm. His climax was still quite distant, but he wasn’t the sort to begrudge Cirilla her pleasure. Besides, there was no harm in exaggerating his own stamina by comparison.

  He was quite surprised, therefore, when Cirilla sighed, caught her breath, and resumed the wave-like motion of her hips. His thoughts on the matter must have been quite obvious since she had barely opened her eyes to look at him when she barked a tired but enthusiastic laugh.

  “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with just that, did you?” she purred, leaning forward until her breasts hung enticingly before his eyes. “You’ve been gone for weeks, dear husband. These two might have had their fill of you, but I intend to make up for lost time. Unless you have some sort of objection?”

  He did, of course, but doubted it was a protest Cirilla would heed. And so, unable to do otherwise, he grinned with a confidence he did not entirely feel.

  “And risk disappointing my Queen?” he asked. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Cirilla grinned back at him. Then, with the suddenness of a striking adder, she seized his wrists and pinned them down against the bed. She didn’t even need to ask. Nyssa and Karran moved without hesitation, lying on either side of him and restraining him with the warmth of their supple bodies.

  “Good,” Cirilla said as she resumed moving once more.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It took considerable willpower not to wince or limp as Leo made his way to the throne room. Nyssa and Karran would never have commented on it, even if he allowed his weariness to show, but the same could not be said of Cirilla. His wife marched proudly beside him, one arm looped around his and the other hand resting idly on her stomach. And, as they neared the chamber’s posterior door, the crook of her elbow tightened snugly against his before releasing.

  “Remember,” she whispered. “You’re a King now, Leo. These are friends but also subjects.”

  “I remember,” he assured her. Perhaps he was simply well-sated, but indulging his wife’s reminders came oddly easily for once.

  The numerous conversations withered and died as he entered the room, ascended the stairs, and settled heavily onto the throne itself. Cirilla followed him partway, then turned and addressed those below.

  “Presenting His Majesty, King Leo VanOrden,” she said, with a distractingly sensuous tone—or so it seemed to him. Though, perhaps he was simply accustomed to Conrad’s inflexible formality. In any case, the guests he’d summoned didn’t seem to mind the less formal commencement. Without exception, the men and women bowed, curtseyed, or at least ducked their heads.

  He leaned forward, resting on his knees rather than the arms of his throne as he surveyed the attendees. There were dozens of them, though most were white-uniformed captains of the Ansiri Navy or lieutenants serving under the elf and trow primarchs. More significant were the host of familiar and recognizable figures who stood closest to him, in the well between the gallery and the throne’s base.

  “I won’t waste time on courtesies and flowery words,” Leo said. “We’ve far too much work to do. So, I’ll simply offer my thanks to all who’ve answered the summons. There are a few matters we need to address and your presence here will allow Ansiri to regain its calm and normalcy.”

  Scanning the rows of faces, he settled on one in particular and grinned.

  “Master Ferris,” he called, waving the aged man forward. “First, allow me to apologize. If there had been a way to spare your noble title while eradicating the others, please believe that I would have done so.”

  Ferris sluggishly made his way forward. Though he did not lean quite so heavily on his wife’s arm as he had on previous occasions, it clearly took considerable effort for the man to keep his feet. Nevertheless, he bowed low and with far more elegance than Leo would have thought possible.

  “I’m flattered, Your Majesty,” Ferris said, straightening. “But I’m hardly the sort of man to hold a grudge. So long as you don’t intend to renege on certain… contractual obligations, I’ve no grounds to complain.”

  Leo wanted to laugh. Ferris was exactly the sort of man to hold a grudge. What he didn’t know was whether or not the former baron was as inflexible as his arthritic joints suggested.

  “I have no intention of going back on my word,” he declared. “However, given the fact that Grey’s forces briefly occupied the city, it may take some time to recover the coin he stole from the treasury. I assume that payment within a fortnight would be equally acceptable?”

  A slight, almost unnoticeable tension filled the air as Leo and the chamber’s occupants awaited the man’s answer. It was a serious one too. If Ferris caused a scene or demanded Leo abide by the strictest reading of their contract, the fallout could weaken his position tremendously.

  The corner of Ferris’ mouth curled into a smirk.

  “That is wholly acceptable, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing again.

  It was hard for Leo to stifle his sigh of relief. Nodding gratefully as Ferris and his wife eased back into the crowd of courtiers, he took a moment to allow his racing pulse to subside before continuing to the next matter.

  “Buchanan,” he called. “How fares the Watch?”

  The man stepped forward, offering a sweeping bow before straightening and tugging distractedly at his recently trimmed beard.

  “I’m not certain I’m the best man to answer such a question,” he began haltingly. “I’ve coordinated with some of their officers, but aside from replacing men as they transition from our ranks back to the Watch, I’ve very little insight. It might be best to—”

  “They’re understaffed but managing,” interrupted another voice. Pulling away from Buchold and Iresh, Lucius glanced between Leo and Buchanan with a sharp-eyed look. “The Low C—that is, some of the seedier elements of Ansiri have been extraordinarily active throughout the past weeks. Little of it is violent or subversive, but the Watch lacks the numbers for regular patrols. Buchold, Sophe, and I have been working with Captain Macnair to find places where elven recruits can reinforce the Watch without causing problems.”


  “Excellent,” Leo said. He meant it too. “What about our army? Is there any interest in paid service?”

  “Some,” Lucius admitted. “It’s proven especially popular amongst the trow. You can thank Sophe for that, I suppose. But between the elves and trow, I’d guess we’re looking at just under a thousand recruits. There may be more who’ve yet to make up their minds.”

  “Well, let’s make it easy for them,” Leo said. “A thousand members of the Watch might be a bit much for the treasury to handle during peacetime. Admiral Summers, what do you think? I assume there are roles at sea that need to be filled?”

  Summers was already positioned near the front of the crowd, but he stepped forward to offer his salute. And although the young man looked deeply uncomfortable in his increasingly epauletted uniform, his reply was quick and unwavering.

  “I’ll find a place for them, Your Majesty,” he said. “A few of the captains may object to non-human sailors, but given that this order is coming straight from you, there shouldn’t be more than a bit of grumbling.”

  “See that there isn’t,” Leo instructed. “And come speak to me once we’re done here, won’t you? I have a few dispatches bound for Sutherpoint that I’d like sent on the first possible ship.”

  Summers inclined his head, but it was not his reaction that Leo was watching. A ripple of unease, the very one he’d been anticipating, spread throughout the observers who did not know him well enough to guess at his thoughts and intentions. Sitting back on his throne, Leo took a deep breath before continuing.

  “Given that the Isles are now home to two Kings, it seems only fitting that we begin to determine what sort of diplomatic future our kingdoms will have. I’ve extended an offer to Petre VanAllen to serve as our ambassador to King Lionel. If he declines, I’ll appoint someone else, but I have every hope that Petre will accept the position. A prosperous, harmonious relationship of trade and mutual respect will benefit both Ansiri and Sutherpoint in the years to come.

  “Furthermore,” Leo continued. “Since it seems unlikely that Sutherpoint will rejoin Ansiri any time soon, we can no longer afford to ignore the rest of the Isles. A few isolated plantations and ruined elven cities will not secure our foothold in the east. Once Lionel has finished securing his grip on Sutherpoint, I do not doubt that he will look to expand their influence as well. I intend to begin incentivizing the settlement of new plantations until our southern and eastern borders are firmly established. Hopefully, the opportunities for profit and greater independence will soothe those who might otherwise… resent the loss of their slaves.”

  The deliberate tone and cadence of his words went a long way toward soothing the worries of his audience. And where the subtler aspects of his message did not, the words themselves accomplished the rest. Leo could see the gears turning as his audience exchanged thoughtful looks and worked through the implications of his announcement. Those of means, Ferris in particular, looked as though propriety alone was the only thing keeping him from rushing off to begin working.

  “I fully believe that Ansiri, and the Isles as a whole, have a bright future ahead.” He spoke softly, far softer than before, and with a new air of finality. “But I am nevertheless conscious that my optimism and the promise of future opportunities will not erase the painful realities of the past. Elves, trow, and other non-human species have suffered greatly, and it will take more than simple words to undo that harm. To that end, I will do everything in my power to reign justly and impartially. And I hope that, in time, my example will help shape the conscience of Ansiri and its people.”

  It was, in hindsight, an unnecessary statement to make. The sheer number of nonhumans serving under him, including the pair that guarded him from mirrored positions at the foot of the stairs, should have made such lofty ideals obvious. Additionally, it might have been better to conclude his declarations with the tantalizing prospect of expansion of profit. And yet, part of Leo could not but speak. The words felt almost like a compulsion. And as he caught Iresh’s eye amid the sea of faces, he was glad that he’d given in to the urge.

  Sha’rath, the Gwydon mouthed silently. Pressing a palm to his collar, the elf offered an understated bow.

  Leo didn’t respond. Instead, he sat back on his throne, discovered Cirilla seeking his gaze, and offered her a purposeful shrug.

  The rest of the afternoon concluded far less stately and grandiose than it began. Leo passed the time resolving the issues brought forward and instructing the various officers and administrators how he wished the matters resolved. A few managed to recapture that attention of the entire court, such as his reluctant command to hang the son of a former baronet for drunkenly stabbing the elven Watch recruit who’d been escorting him home. Others, like Conrad’s request to hire a team of day laborers to ferry documents from the offices of former counts to recently designated storage chambers, had barely even held Leo’s focus.

  In the end, it was Cirilla who saved him.

  “Good fellows,” his wife called out as Leo stifled a third yawn. “I’m afraid that His Majesty has several dinner appointments, and so we must adjourn for the day. If you have urgent business, please leave it with the steward.”

  Even with so clear a dismissal, it took nearly a quarter of an hour before the last supplicant filed from the throne room and Leo could descend the steps on stiff, surprisingly achy legs. Stretching them in a distinctly unkingly fashion, he grasped Cirilla’s hand and squeezed it appreciatively. Then, without a word and with barely a nudge, she led him from the chamber, down the hall, to the long-tabled dining room.

  They had waited for him. Lucius, Buchold, Iresh, and Sophe sat in a row on one side of the table, the former baron nearest to Leo. The chair opposite him was empty, evidently reserved for Cirilla, but further down, a similar line of notables sipped their wine with feigned ease. Summers was there, conversing quietly with Ferris and his wife. Further down, Nicolo sat alone and entertained himself by swirling his wine. He looked to be trying to meet the gaze of the room’s final occupant, who lounged on the elves’ side of the table, boots propped on the chair that separated her from Sophe.

  Leo paused, cocking his head at the sight of Davin.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said. “You weren’t there when I held court.”

  The woman looked at him. Unlike the others, she didn’t stand or even lower her feet. She did, however, tilt her goblet at him in what could have been a sort of toast.

  “I was busy,” she said. “Besides, why would I bother? This is where the real decisions get made, so… here I am.”

  Snorting, Leo took his seat.

  “Go ahead and eat,” he said, gesturing about. “As Davin pointed out, we’re here to talk and make decisions, not show off our manners.”

  He reached for Cirilla’s plate, intent on filling it for her, then jumped as their hands collided. Evidently, she’d planned on the reverse. For a second, their eyes met and they exchanged identical looks of surprised amusement. And then, with an uncharacteristic blush, Cirilla folded her hands in her lap.

  He’d only just taken up her plate when Lucius broke the silence.

  “Well, aren’t you two adorable?” There was an almost sneering quality to the elf’s words, though his eyes were bright and far from hostile. “I hope that’s a sign of your present generosity. Master Ferris isn’t the only one who has been deprived of a title, after all.”

  Leo chuckled as he loaded his wife’s plate with food and handed it back to her. She, in turn, slid her wine toward him.

  “I can’t speak to my generosity, Lucius,” he said. “But I suppose I do owe you something. Your title was supposed to be a reward. Fortunately, as King, I’m in a position to reward those that serve me.”

  “Aye, you are.”

  “So?” Leo asked, filling his own plate. He didn’t touch the food. Instead, he picked up the glass Cirilla had offered him and sipped it delicately. “What would you like?”


  The elf didn’t hesitate.

  “A kingdom,” he said.

  The room fell silent at once. If Leo had thought the diversions in the throne room occasionally tense, it was only because he’d not yet experienced this one. Every eye watched him, either in shock at his audacity or in hard, wary evaluation. For his part, Leo tried to convey both extremes as he stared the elf down.

  “Explain,” he growled.

  Lucius didn’t hesitate this time either.

  “You said it yourself, only a short while ago. It’s only a matter of time before Ansiri or Sutherpoint controls the eastern Isles. You need cities and strongholds you can rely upon to defend your claims. I want to rule one as your tetrarch. And, to be honest, it would likely make your job easier as well. Right now, Ansiri is full to bursting with recently freed slaves. If you’re going to avoid retributions left and right, it might be wise to put a couple hundred leagues between the elves and their former masters.”

  Leo held his tongue for nearly a minute as he considered the elf’s words between sips of wine.

  “It’s an attractive proposal,” he finally admitted. “But I can’t help but feel that the eventual outcome would be somewhat different than what you’re describing. A city, hundreds of leagues from Ansiri and populated by thousands of former slaves, feels dangerously like an elven kingdom, rather than a vassal of Ansiri.”

  “That’s the point,” Lucius said. Sighing, he dropped his gaze and began to drum his fingers softly on the table. “Leo, I know you’re a good man—”

  “You take that back!” Leo interjected with exaggerated harshness.

  Grinning, Lucius held up his hands in concession. “All right. I know that deep, deep down you’re something of a good man. And so do the elves. Thanks to Iresh, the masses practically worship you as Sha’rath. And well they should; you deserve it. But you’re not going to live forever. Even if your heirs for the next two centuries prove equally worth of the title, such things can’t endure indefinitely without a change in conscience. I hope that happens. But until that day comes, and once you’re no longer here to protect us, a few hundred leagues might make the difference between freedom and a return to slavery.”