“Please, Grayson, I cannot-” her breath hitches, “not tonight.”
Or any.
Silence. A usual solace to Avina that now ridicules her with the unspoken promise of impending horror.
“Your Highness, I fear that if you do not join him, I will have no other option than to force you.”
Before following Grayson, she drains the remainder of her wine straight from the bottle and stomps off behind.
At Rendel’s door, she tugs her robe tighter around her nightgown-clad body. Glaring at Grayson, who is now standing at attention against the wall, she shoves the door open, the wood banging against the stone wall.
“Can we make this fast? I am exhausted-”
She stops dead in her tracks when she sees him reclining against the headboard of his canopy bed. A young redhead whom Avina recognizes as her new lady-in-waiting has her mouth wrapped around his cock. Amorous slurping noises fill the high vaulted space.
Avina enjoyed her little chat with the new girl over tea yesterday afternoon.
At least she didn’t slurp the tea like this.
Rendel suddenly grabs the girl’s red locks and thrusts himself into her mouth several times before she rolls away, licking her engorged lips.
“Ah, Avina.” His tone suggests her appearance has signaled the start of a formal meeting she was not privy to until now. “It has almost been a year since our wedding, and you have yet to give me an heir. I spoke to a Healer who recommended that we work on your abilities in the bed chamber.”
My abilities?
Avina stumbles into the velvet seat of an armchair. When she first laid eyes on Rendel, she considered him the weakest man she had ever seen with his tiny nose and pristinely manicured nails.
Then, there were his foolish actions in the war with the Salt Province. Legends state their tenacious leader resembles the Briny God in the flesh with his muscular build, long, thick hair bound in a braid, dense beard, and piercing blue eyes.
Sometimes, she conjures the rumored image of Prince Sigvid Thordsson standing before her, rescuing her from this torment with Rendel.
“I apologize, my lord, but I misheard you. I believe you suggested my sexual abilities are lacking?” She should have run when Grayson summoned her.
Ran and never looked back.
The redhead shrugs off the bed and into a satin, cream-colored robe. Rendel, on the other hand, does not stuff his genitals back into his undergarments.
“Avina, your tone is a tad impertinent. I am only trying to help you.” He stands from his bed wearing only a thick purple dressing gown over matching underclothes with his genitals falling out grotesquely.
“Why do I need your help? You spill your seed within me on a near-constant basis.”
What a disgusting human being.
Had she a hundred wishes, every one of them would be to turn Rendel into a gross insect that she can squash under her heel.
Rendel gestures to the lady-in-waiting, who slinks to him, sliding her thin arms around his chest. From across the room, Avina could practically hear the young woman purring.
He whispers something into her ear and slaps her behind. She stalks out the door, but not before glancing at Avina as if she is the scum of the earth.
“I have suffered you this long. You are disgusting. It is like bedding a cow. Let me be clear, Avina.”
She has grown so accustomed to his jabs at her appearance that it no longer rattles her to the point of yearning to slice her wrists.
He strides toward a cabinet and withdraws a glass decanter full of Steinlund whiskey. As he pours a glass, he speaks as if this is nothing more than a Council meeting.
“You have one more year left to provide me a male heir.”
Avina scoffs. “Or what? You shall breed with the staff?”
