“How old are you?” It is a rude question, but I think Tusk likes direct questions. He doesn't care for delicacy or tact.
“Several generations old. Through augmentations and genetic treatments, I have been able to survive several kings. Death is an unnecessary inconvenience; one I have decided to avoid.”
I have always liked older men. Not old men. Just older. There's a certain comfort in knowing I am in the presence of someone stable and mature. Though stable may not be the best descriptor for him. I have seen him snap and kill a man. My husband. And very possibly, my jailer.
“What is your intention for me?”
“To elicit a confession and punish you accordingly.”
I let out a soft sigh.
“Do with me as you will. I have no choice in this, or any other matter.”
He makes one of his growling sounds. “Human, I find submission very pleasing, but I do not confuse playing dead with submitting to my will. You may have found that technique effective with the tedious little monster you married, but I am a much more dangerous beast.”
“I missed you.”
Those three words slip out before I am even aware of them, surprising us both.
"Is that an attempt at flattery, human?”
“No.”
It is something so much worse. It is the truth. A strange, twisted, bizarre truth. I think he knows it already though. I think he felt it when he was inside me, when I was writhing on his cock, and when I was wrapping my legs around him with desperate need. Why does it feel so much more vulnerable to tell him these things than it does to express them?
"Why would you miss me?”
"I have no idea.”
“Think, human. You formed the words for a reason. I want to know what that reason was."
“I can try…”
He looks at me with that almost permanently furious gaze. This is a male beast who growls and snarls almost constantly. I wonder if this is how he always is, or if he is stuck in a situation which constantly infuriates him.
“If I had to say why I would say such a thing… I suppose, the red-haired jailer was nice, but he treated me like a trinket to be put in a cabinet. He wanted to save me to spite you, I think. He was always looking at me with those pitying eyes and serving me like I was helpless.”
Tusk’s expression softens. He nods, pleased.
“You are not helpless, are you, Margaret. You are something quite other than helpless.”
“TUSK!”
His name is thundered by the purple king, the royal voice resonating through the speakers located throughout the palace. I find myself trying to hide reflexively.
Tusk draws in an impatient breath, as if he is not surprised, but he is put out. “My liege summons me,” he says with a tone dripping with sarcasm. "Shall we see what he has to say?”
Five
Tusk
The usurper king dares summon me with rage in his voice. I hope he has managed to moderate his tone before I reach him. I have Margaret in tow. I do not intend on letting her out of my sight again, lest they make another attempt to save her from me.
As always, I inventory my opponent before facing him. It is good to remind oneself of the various strengths and weaknesses prior to engagement.
Rath is quite a fascinating creature. He is physically powerful, morally questionable, and utterly untrustworthy. He paid for his previous indiscretions by being nearly obliterated in an explosion detonated by his now human lover. He was mortally wounded and barely strung back together with a variety of augmentations. I too have availed myself of our advanced technologies over the years. There is no need to be weak, or to allow age to destroy what I have spent a lifetime building. Unlike Rath, I still have my eyes. He has a golden orb and a black and silver processor which may have been useful when he was hunting humans, but which hardly befits a king.
I notice that Rath is still sitting on the throne. He could have hunted me down with soldiers or come to see me himself. Instead, he sits in that chair as if he is afraid someone else will sit in it the moment he stands up.
He is starting to look very comfortable and quite accustomed to it. He is not going to like it when the time comes for him to vacate the throne. He is not going to like any of my plans for him at all.
“Hello, Rath.” There is a vicious undertone in my voice which seems to escape him entirely. Rath is very perceptive in many ways, and utterly clueless in so many others. He is angry on behalf of his friend and co-conspirator.
"You attacked Tyvian. You wounded him most terribly. He could have died.”
That was indeed the intention. Rath relies on Tyvian. I am certain that the two have been co-conspirators over time. Rath's escape, and the escape of many human rebels is no doubt due to Tyvian. He is fortunate not to have had his throat ripped out earlier. They’re all fortunate to still be in possession of relatively intact breathing apparatuses.