Chapter 6: The Wedding Gift
The warmth of him withdrew slowly, leaving a hollow ache inside me. I lay gasping beneath him, my thighs still trembling from the force of my release. But Gromm did not move far. His hand slid between my legs, fingers pressing against my slick flesh, and I felt him scoop the seed that trickled from my body and push it back inside me.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
His palm pressed flat against my lower belly, holding me open, holding his gift in place. With his other hand he lifted my hips, tilting them upward, angling me so his seed would find its home. I knew what he was doing. He was making sure. Every drop. Every chance.
His chest rumbled against mine as he spoke. "You are mine now, little queen. My name will grow in your belly. My legacy will take root."
I said nothing. I could not. My voice was still lost somewhere between the pleasure he had torn from me and the shame I refused to name.
But my heart was beating. And I could not tell if it was fear or want that drove the rhythm.
I thought of Mythias. Of what he had seen. Of the wet stain darkening his trousers. My stomach turned, but my voice, when it came, was steady. "What will you do with him?"
Gromm shifted above me, amber eyes catching the moonlight. "He is yours now. My wedding gift to you."
I blinked. "What?"
"Mythias Thorne Oak. Former captain of the elven guard. His life belongs to you." Gromm's tusked mouth curled, not quite a smile. "You may decide what becomes of him. Chain him. Free him. Execute him. Keep him as a pet." He shrugged, the motion rolling through his massive shoulders. "So long as he remains within the palace walls, his fate is yours to shape."
The weight of that power settled in my palm like a blade. Cold. Sharp. Heavy.
I looked toward the wall where Mythias still stood, head bowed, breathing ragged. His wrists were shackled above him, his body limp with humiliation. He would not meet my eyes.
And I did not know yet what mercy I had left to give.
I turned my head, forcing my voice to carry across the chamber. "Mythias."
He did not respond at first. His head remained bowed, his honey brown hair falling across his face, hiding whatever expression he wore. But I saw his jaw clench, saw the cords of his throat work as he swallowed.
"Mythias," I said again, sharper this time. "Look at me."
Slowly, he raised his head. His eyes met mine, and I flinched at what I saw there. Not anger. Not hatred. Something worse. Shame. Deep and consuming, like a fire that had burned away everything he was until only ash remained.
"What do you want?" I asked him.
His lips parted. For a long moment, no sound came. Then his voice emerged, cracked and hollow. "Execute me."
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.
"I cannot live to see this," he continued, his gaze slipping past me to the orc who still lay half draped across my body. "I cannot watch our home become theirs. I cannot stand by while you lay with the beast who murdered our king." His voice broke. "Grant me death, Liana. It is the only mercy I have left to ask for."
A low growl rumbled from Gromm's chest. I felt it vibrate through his body, through the bed, through my own bones. But he said nothing. He held true to his word. The choice was mine.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then sat fully, ignoring the ache between my thighs and the warmth still pooling inside me. The sheet slipped from my chest, and I did not reach for it.
"No."
Mythias's eyes widened. "Liana — "
"I will not have you killed." My voice came out stronger than I expected. Firmer. "You are my captain. You have served my family since before I was born. You bled for my father, and you will not bleed again by my command." I held his gaze, letting him see the steel I had not known I possessed. "You will live, Mythias. And you will watch me rebuild what was broken. You will watch me find a way to make this kingdom whole again, even if it means lying beside an orc every night until I bear his children."
Mythias's chains rattled as he strained against them. "You speak of rebuilding as if the foundation is not soaked in your father's blood." His voice cracked like ice breaking. "Do you feel nothing for that loss? He was your king. Your father."
I felt Gromm's hand settle on my hip, a low heat radiating from his palm. I did not look at him. Instead, I met Mythias's gaze and held it.
"My father was a king first and a father second, if he was a father at all." The words tasted foreign on my tongue, but they were true, and truth was all I had left. "He raised me on lessons of politics and succession and strategy. He taught me to read maps before I could read stories. He spoke to me of treaties and trade routes, of the weight of a crown and the burden of an heir's duty."
I paused, letting the silence stretch.
"Who taught me to dance, Mythias? Who held me when I cried after my mother died? Who bandaged my knees when I fell in the gardens?" My voice softened, but did not waver. "The maids. The tutors. The servants who were paid to care for the princess so the king could rule his kingdom."
Mythias's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I grieve," I continued, and I felt the words settle like stones in my chest. "I grieve the idea of a father I never truly had. But the man who bled on the throne room floor was a stranger who shared my blood and my roof, not my heart." I drew a breath, steadying myself. "Do not mistake my grief for what you think it should be. I am not the daughter you imagine. I never was."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick as the scent of crushed lilies. Gromm's thumb traced a slow circle against my hip, and I felt the calloused warmth of his skin against mine.
Mythias's head dropped, his shoulders sagging. "Then what do you want from me?"
I did not answer immediately. I looked at him, at the broken man chained to my wall, and I felt the blade of power still resting in my palm.
"I want you to live," I said at last. "And I want you to help me find a way to make this matter."
"Gromm," I said once my heart settled, the word feeling foreign but necessary. "Can you please have Mythias escorted to the baths? Have him washed and the healer treat his wounds again. Then give him a proper bed to sleep in. You may keep it locked and guarded, but he will not sleep in a dungeon or in chains."
Gromm studied me for a long moment, his amber eyes unreadable in the moonlight. Then he nodded, a single slow dip of his head. He reached for a pillow and slid it beneath my hips, lifting me, tilting me. I felt the shift inside me, the warmth of his seed settling deeper, and I understood. He was continuing his work. Ensuring his legacy took root. The gesture should have infuriated me. Instead, I felt a strange, quiet acceptance.
He draped a sheet over my nakedness, the fabric whisper-soft against my heated skin. Then he rose from the bed, massive and unashamed, his body painted in silver and shadow. He walked to the door, bare, his cock still slick with our mingled fluids, and pulled it open.
Two orc guards snapped to attention. Gromm spoke in their guttural tongue, a low stream of commands that I could not follow. They nodded, glanced past him toward the chained elf, and moved inside without hesitation. One unlocked Mythias's shackles while the other stood ready. Mythias did not resist. He was a puppet whose strings had been cut.
The guards led him out, and the door closed behind them with a heavy thud. The silence they left behind was vast, filled only with the whisper of the sheets and the distant crackle of dying embers in the hearth.
Gromm turned back to me, his silhouette cutting a dark shape against the door. He did not speak. He simply walked to the bed, climbed onto it, and settled beside me. His hand found my hip, pulling me against the solid warmth of his body.
I did not pull away. In fact, he felt tension slipping from my body and I turned to nuzzle my face into his chest. It’d been a long and trying day. Sleep found me quickly and I drifted off in his arms.