I’d had the opportunity, once upon a time.
Like her, I had no parents, but unlike her, I never knew mine. I grew up in a succession of well-appointed homes in London, New York, Geneva, Copenhagen. Places where moneyed families were native. Every couple of years, whichever foster family I was staying with would abruptly ship me off to another home. Always wealthy, always well-educated, and cultured. I never wanted for anything, except a mother and father.
None of these families mistreated me, but none showed me much love either. I was something to look after, like a fragile, expensive antique. I was told my name was Brant, yet as I grew up, it became clear that name was assigned, not inherited.
I inherited three things from the parents I never knew. The first was a substantial amount of money, held in trust in a numbered Swiss account and doled out by a registered agent I never met. The second was a network of elites, all of them sworn for reasons I couldn’t know to guard me and see to my wellbeing.
The final inheritance was admission to Stormcloud. More than that, actually—I was not merely admitted. My way was set.
Miss Amelia had met me the day I arrived. I could recall it like it had just happened.
Mr. Brant, she’d greeted me at the front gate, as your matriculation to Stormcloud Academy was most sudden, I thought it best to orient you myself.
Thank you, I’d muttered, overwhelmed by the place’s grandeur.
You’ll find we keep the protocol quite rigid. But I will see to it you are eased in gradually. I’ll keep a special eye on you.
She had explained in exacting detail the school hierarchy and arranged a meeting with Zephyr Williams, who’d later greeted me with a combination of condescension and grudging acceptance.
I was to be a King.
It was madness. I’d only just learned of the concept of a King of Stormcloud, and I was to become one.
But that was no good: I couldn’t do it. To accept my place next to Zephyr and his ilk would be a betrayal of everything I believed in. The Kings were not great men or people of vision. They did not have some claim to being exceptional. All they had was money and an over-inflated sense of importance. Besides, they were bullies, pure and simple.
That’s all to say, I was impressed neither by the idea of a King nor by the guys who claimed to be Kings. Weirdly, even after I’d turned Zephyr down, he’d held his fire. I’d seen the Kings take some genuinely fucked up revenge on people for slights way more minor than mine, but I was allowed to walk the halls with impunity. Zephyr even invited me to eat with them from time to time. And I accepted as a courtesy. I hate to admit it, but he could be pretty funny sometimes. Even so, I refused to be taken in by that particular club.
What a stupid move that was.
All the moral superiority I’d felt toward the Kings—I mean, what did it get me? Alone and nervous at two in the morning. For the fourth night in a row.
Not knowing what else to do, I stepped out of bed and stripped off my undershirt and boxers. A hot shower ought to relax me at least. Somehow, I needed to clear my head and try to think clearly about my situation. I was Theo Brant, the child with an assumed name, raised in the lap of luxury, granted entry to the most exclusive educational institution in the world. And on top of all of that, I could become a King tomorrow if I would only bend the knee to Zephyr Williams. Why shouldn’t I?
The steaming hot water washed over me. I rolled my stiff shoulders back and dragged my fingers through my hair. The shower felt good in a way that most things did not in those days. I tried to focus on the sensation of hot water rolling down my skin.
Remember what it felt like to relax, Theo? Before the attack, before the Kings’ strange ritual in the catacombs, before Biba. . . .
My mind flashed back to last spring when I was walking into the Kings’ Hall, a secret sanctum that I’d only known about because Zephyr had taken me down there my first week at Stormcloud to offer me a place among the Kings. When I’d declined, his tone had done an immediate 180. All the good cheer and politesse had disappeared, replaced with unalloyed condescension. He’d sworn I would die slowly if I ever revealed the location of the Kings’ Hall. I’d assured him I had no intention of doing that. Indeed, I never intended to return to that dank pit.
I’d stayed away, good to my word . . . until the night I followed them down there, Zephyr and Biba.
I should have been disgusted by the spectacle I walked in on: Arvo, Sol, and Zephyr stooped on the floor around Biba. She was stark naked, her supple body glistening with oil. Arvo and Sol held her down, spread-eagle. They sucked on her breasts and massaged her clit while Zephyr fucked her like a wild animal.
I should have been disgusted, but I’d found I was not. I almost hadn’t intervened because a voice from the lizard part of my brain had told me to watch. Watch Zephyr fuck her until they came together. Watch the Kings take turns with her, plunging into her holes and her mouth, until the whole orgiastic crew was sated.
Recalling them all together, I got hard. That was a minor miracle; for all the stress and self-loathing I’d felt recently, I hadn’t felt aroused in weeks. I looked down uncertainly. Wow. Just the memory of Biba servicing the Kings had brought my cock to full mast.
Why shouldn’t I dispose of my ethics and self-respect and join Zephyr’s little club? Maybe I could jump in on their next orgy.
I didn’t bother to dress or even towel off before lying back on my mattress. It was still warm enough, and there was a pleasant nighttime draft from the cracked window in my room. The light breeze felt wonderful across my moist skin.
I glanced at the mirror on my door and caught my reflection. It wasn’t bad. A summer of continuous labor in the Solomon Islands had built back the muscle I lost after weeks in the infirmary last year. My tan was fading but still there.
I looked better than I felt. In the moonlight, with droplets still resting on my body, I liked the view of myself.
Theo Brant . . . not such a wreck after all. At least, not physically.
My hand traced its way from my pec, down my ribs, and over my abs, which showed renewed definition from weeks of lifting logs and sandbags. I rested my fingers on my bare thigh and stared at my dick in the mirror. It had waned just slightly since the shower but still rose straight up from my pelvis.