Some males were on their hands and knees on the floor, their backs serving as living benches, their faces impassive or strained as their wives lounged upon them, laughing and gossiping with each other.
Others sat in slightly reclined chairs with their wives perched in their laps. The women’s body language spoke of possession—of casual but complete ownership. They used their husbands like furniture and nobody seemed to mind.
Kaitlyn felt a flutter of panic. Was she supposed to sit on Braze like that? And where were they supposed to go? The sheer spectacle before her was overwhelming.
Just as she was thinking she’d better try to find an empty spot at the U-shaped table, a different servant, his gold livery edged with silver thread, materialized at her elbow.
“The Empress commands your presence at the High Table, Ambassadress,” he murmured, his voice a toneless whisper. “Please follow me.”
They were led past the unsettling tableaux of power and submission and Kaitlyn tried not to stare. The air was thick with the smell of rich, spiced meats…exotic fruits…and the underlying, musky scent of sweat and arousal. She kept her eyes forward, acutely aware of Braze’s massive, warm presence at her back. It felt good to know her Protector was there, even though she wasn’t in any physical danger. The big Beast Kindred made her feel calmer somehow.
They ascended the three shallow steps to the dais. There, the Empress herself held court in a manner that made the other arrangements look tame.
She was reclining on a pile of jewel-toned cushions, but they were arranged on the broad, straining back of a muscular male concubine who was on all fours. The male’s face was red—a mask of controlled endurance—and his muscles were corded with the strain of bearing the Empress and remaining absolutely still. But he wasn’t the only one serving his monarch.
Between the Empress’s spread thighs, which were bare beneath her diaphanous gown, knelt a second concubine. His head was buried in her lap, his shoulders working rhythmically. The wet, slick sounds of his tongue lapping at her flesh were barely audible over the general din, but to Kaitlyn, they seemed deafening.
The Empress’s head was tipped back, a slight, satisfied smile on her lips, but her eyes—sharp and knowing—snapped to Kaitlyn the moment she approached.
“Do come and sit by me, my dear Ambassadress,” she said, her voice carrying effortlessly over the din of the banquet hall. She didn’t halt the ministrations of the male between her legs for a second.
“Er, thank you—I’d be honored,” Kaitlyn said, nodding respectfully.
“Good—we have a real treat after the feast and the view is so much better up here for entertainment. Why, do you know we have a wild Kriver and its trainer scheduled for tonight? They’re meant to be absolutely bloodthirsty—the fiercest animal in the entire quadrant!”
Kaitlyn forced a polite smile, pushing down her instinctive revulsion at the idea of some fierce creature being tormented for amusement.
“That sounds… fascinating,” she managed, hoping her voice didn’t betray her disgust. “Er… how should I sit?” she asked, looking around the dais. There were no empty chairs—only the living furniture of the concubines and a few other favored guests in similar poses of carnal repose.
The Empress arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“That depends on how well your dear husband has been behaving.” Her gaze, glittering and intrusive, swept over Braze’s near-naked form. “Has he been good to you? Does he deserve to have you in his lap, or should you sit on his back? I peeked in on the two of you a little while ago, but I didn’t see him giving you a massage or pleasuring you with his tongue.” She shook her head slowly in mock disappointment. “Not very nice, I’m afraid.”
A cold wave washed over Kaitlyn. She’d known they were being watched, but the casual, brazen admission of it—not to mention the critique of their performance—felt deeply violating.
But again, she couldn’t let her emotions show on her face.
“Oh, he didn’t have time to do…any of that,” she protested, hearing the slight tremor in her own voice. “We spent quite a long time with the Mistress of the Wardrobe getting him, er, mapped and then we barely had time to get dressed for the feast.”
The Empress studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment, the only sound the enthusiastic slurping from between her thighs.
“Well… I suppose you may sit on his lap then.” She didn’t sound convinced, but she snapped her fingers, anyway, making a sharp, cracking sound.
Two gold-liveried servants rushed forward and prostrated themselves so low their foreheads touched the polished stone of the dais.
“Yes, Empress—most holy and beautiful in all the land,” they chanted in eerie unison.
“Get a chair for my dear friend the Kindred Ambassadress,” the Empress commanded, waving a languid hand. “She wishes to sit in her husband’s lap, though as far as I can see, he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yes, Empress, light of the kingdom,” they responded, again in perfect sync.
They scurried away and returned not a minute later, bearing a heavy-looking chair. It had a high back and a wide seat, but the bottom was not solid wood—it was a taut frame over which a thick, dark cloth was stretched, like a drumhead. Most notably, it was partially reclined.
The servants placed it to the left of the Empress’s living chair. Braze, following a slight nod from Kaitlyn, moved to it and sat.
As he settled himself, the effect was immediate and blatant—the reclined angle forced his hips forward. This meant his bare shaft—already rigid and straining against the cock ring—now jutted up from the open leather of his trousers like an angry, flushed exclamation point.
Kaitlyn stared, her mouth going dry. Maybe I should have asked to sit on his back instead? This was a trap or some kind of public test, she was sure. How in the world was she supposed to sit on her Protector without causing him pain…or doing something else entirely?
