“Remember that time he came back with a hickey from some skank in the elvish territories?” Monica painfully reminded me. We didn’t actually know if the elf in question was indeed a “skank,” only assumed.
“It was a diplomatic mission. Queen Gwyneth wanted a treaty.” We’d broken up for a spell because of it. Then and now, Cedrych’s excuse had seemed flimsy.
“Remember that time we went down to the Bristol Falls, and he got all pissy about you sunbathing in the nude and made you cover up the entire time you weren’t in the water?”
“He hadn’t thought it befitting for a royal suitor to show so much skin.”
“It’syourskin to show or not, Skylar, and my sweet baby boy, real talk now, you werenevera suitor to him. Not really. You were a beautiful distraction from his boring daily life at court. He never treated you as an equal, as a partner. He never invited you to royal functions or did the thingsyouwanted to do. He kept you like a doll on the shelf, and you were stuck waiting for him to decide when to play with you.”
She wasn’t wrong, and she also wasn’t saying it to be mean. But I’d also had power over Cedrych, knowing that even when we were in a fight, he wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. He’d come crawling back eventually with a half-assed apology and something glittery to get back into my good graces. What a toxic relationship we had. Mind games and jealousy and (if I was being honest) mediocre sex that always concluded with a peck on the cheek and some tight expression of gratitude from His Royal Highness. Rarely did Cedrych even undress fully, blaming the complexity of royal clothing as the reason. I forgave him his repression. It was to be expected, having beenbirthed from the steel-trap cunt of Queen Gwyneth, may the Goddess keep her.
It was the way he’d treated me outside of sex that made me feel worthless.
“He made your world smaller, sweet pea,” Monica continued. “And the world is so very large. You deserve someone who can give you adventure and thrills, who makes you feel special and adored. Not someone who only pays attention to you when it’s convenient for him.”
“I’m having a hard time here, Mon. I know he was shitty to me. I know I should be grateful he did something so unforgivable that I can’t go running back to him this time, but I’m so tempted. I’ve built my whole life around him these past two years, and when I think about walking away, it seems like I’m cutting out a part of myself too.”
“Maybe that part of you needs to be cut out, Skybear. Cedrych was a huge pimple on your otherwise flawless face that needed to be popped. Exfoliate that mess of a man from your life and move on. You are a treasure, my angel, and you need to start valuing yourself as such.”
I nodded as a wave of gratitude enveloped me. Monica had been my one constant since I was a fledgling. Both my parents were ether addicts, and I’d never been registered with a labor guild, which meant that due to the draconian laws of Emrallt Valley, I’d had to get creative when it came to feeding myself. I’d met Monica while pickpocketing the upper echelon in Templeton Square. (It was also where I’d met Prince Cedrycha few years later.) Monica and I had hated each other at first, having to compete for marks and turf, and then we’d gotten smart and banded together, making twice as much coin while watching each other’s backs.
Nowadays, Monica no longer had to steal to survive. She’d found a tattoo artist to take her on as an apprentice, and I’d let Monica use my skin as her canvas while she was learning the trade. Her work was incredible, and she now owned her own tattoo parlor as one of the most sought-after skin artists in Emrallt Valley. And I’d found Cedrych, who had elevated me, temporarily it seemed, from my life of petty crime.
“I’m right back where I started,” I said, recalling last night when I’d been banned from the local biker bar for pickpocketing.
“You’re wiser now, Skylar. You know what you want, someone who values and appreciates you. You have so many skills, and outside of Emrallt Valley, you can work a normal job without having to go through the Guild. Do you need money? A place to stay? You know you can always come back here and sleep on my futon.”
Monica would take me in if I hit rock bottom, but I wanted to try and make it on my own for once. Tonight’s wet t-shirt contest was a start. Maybe I could convince the hot leather daddy to give me more permanent employment. I could tend the bar or wait tables or even wash dishes if that’s what was needed. I wasn’t fussy about the work so long as Iwasn’t mistreated.
“I’m going to stay away a little longer, Mon, until the worst of my cravings pass. I’m afraid if I return too soon, I’ll let Cedrych convince me to take him back.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Hey, have you seen any hot shifters up in the mountains? I swear, every time I hear them howling on a full moon, my panties get wet.”
I laughed at her bawdiness. “Not yet, but I did meet a fine leather daddy last night who has a couple of massive… horns.”
“Horns? Sounds kinky. Did he have a tail too?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at his ass. He caught me stealing from a couple of ogres and kicked me out of his bar. But I think I convinced him to give me a second chance.”
“If anyone deserves it, it’s you, sweet pea. You know what they say about bad breakups, don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
Goddess bless Monica and her very practical advice. We said our goodbyes, and I lay back in my lawn chair soaking up the sun’s warmth. Closing my eyes, I imagined myself again in that alleyway behind the bar with my stomach flattened against the stone wall and Hiero right behind me, panting in my ear while rearranging my insides, telling me totake it all, slutin his stern Daddy voice. His rough hand on my cock would chafe in just the right way as he used me for his pleasure. My nipples hardened, my wings tingled, and my dick jumped in my skimpy swimsuit.
What might it take to make my fantasy a reality?
Chapter six
Hiero
There were two waysto enter the wet t-shirt contest at Church, buy your own way in or “arouse” the interest of a sponsor. Those wishing to be staked were given a number and lined up on stage to make their appeal to the crowd. The trick was to tempt a buyer without giving away the goods, to tease what your wet clothing might soon reveal. In the three years we’d been hosting the wet t-shirt contest, not once had a fae put themselves up for backing.
Until now.
Skylar Larkspur stood in the lineup with his long raven hair pulled back in a complicated braid. The sides of his head were shorn, highlighting the many pieces of jewelry that decorated his delicate, pointed ears. His heavily lined lavender eyes sparkled with excitement, and he wore a blue silk robe and not much else. No shoes either, which was worrisome. Delicate fae feet had no business being bare in a place where hooves and boots went clomping around.
