His breath is hot on the back of my head as he holds me over the throne, panting as he regains control of himself. He sounds more like an animal than ever in this moment.
We are supposed to be two completely different creatures, two species without anything in common besides our bipedal origins. Right now, we feel like the very same thing.
Krush pulls himself from me, his cock still thick even as his erection begins to abate. I feel the hot flood of his seed dripping down over my sensitive clit. That is his mark. That is how everybody knows he truly took me.
“You were not supposed to enjoy that,” he growls in my ear, as he helps me up in a gesture which is more gentlemanly than I might expect.
I look into his eyes. There is a moment of softness between us. Something that feels precious and perfect and inevitable.
Then the noise of the court returns and the rabble of the crowd breaks into the space between us. He remembers that he is a king, and I remember that I am a captive.
His face transforms into a sneering snarl as he rejects everything between us. We were caught up in a mutual world that consisted only of the two of us, but this bigger world is cruel and it demands monstrous behavior from this king.
“Take her away. Give her to Tyvian. Pathetic,” he growls. “The humans have made a complete mockery of us all. All we can capture are the ones who literally do not have a leg on which to stand.”
I do have one leg on which to stand, but I don’t feel like being pedantic about it. I feel lightheaded and hazy and pleasant. I feel flushed, and somehow more complete than I was before. It’s still possible that they’ll kill me. At least I got to come first.
Two
“TYVIAN!”
They call for him as if he is a demon to be summoned, as if the roar of irritable royal korabi courtiers can manifest him.
A tall, more elegant and refined korabi with a bright mane of red hair appears. I know this one. I have never seen his face, but I know him. He is part of Rath K’zar’s network. He is the traitor inside Krush’s castle. He must have nerves of steel to look as composed as he does right now.
He has silvered skin, as if the universe intended him to serve royalty, looking almost as good as them, but not quite. His green eyes are full of intelligence and, if I am not mistaken, mirth. He finds this funny on some level.
He has some fuzkin’ nerve.
I know Tyvian. Tyvian is as much a part of this as I am, or as Rath K’zar, or Lyric. If I am not very much mistaken, Tyvian is the one who set the charges which detonated the secret tunnel beneath the palace, the one my leader and her korabi consort used to escape. I've never met Tyvian before, but I sure as hell know who he is.
He glances down at me and speaks as if with an inward sigh. “Come on, human. Time to go.”
Tyvian takes possession of me by picking me up, which is nice and much better than being dragged about the place by my only ankle, which I need. There is not much in the way of clothing left on my body, and I can feel the king’s seed smeared between my thighs, dripping between them onto the floor below.
He carries me from the chaos, delivers me from the wrath of Krush, and for the first time since my capture, makes me feel as though I might actually exist, and by that I mean, truly exist as a full human being, rather than simply being a pawn in these korabi games.
We reach somewhere that may or may not be our destination. He sets me on my foot and props me against the wall. It’s about as sensitive a treatment as possible given my current lack of leg.
“I am the master of the dungeon,” he introduces himself unnecessarily. I assume we are being listened to. He cannot speak openly. “You will do well to obey me in all things.”
My body aches from the rough handling, and I have never been one for direct confrontation. There’s nothing to be gained from arguing with the korabi. They don’t care what I think. They barely acknowledge that I have thoughts. They credit me with about as much intelligence as the undersides of their boots.
“I note that you are missing appendages humans usually have.” You didn’t mention you were a cripple. He doesn’t actually say the second sentence, but I hear it anyway. I hear a lot of things people don’t say to me. I see the pity in their eyes, and they may as well be shouting curses right into my ears. Krush called me out directly, said I was small and pathetic, and then proceeded to treat me like any other female prisoner he had brutally captured. That was actually pretty nice of him, in a completely fuzked up way.