Chapter 5: Kellan steps into the bedchamber, the morning light catching on his muscled torso as he bows—but Amara's sharp 'Wait' freezes him mid-motion, her gaze fixed on Adrien's clenched jaw as she realizes she cannot stomach this humiliation for either of them.
Dawn bled a cold, grey light through the high windows, failing to warm the imperial bedchamber. Kellan stood just inside the door, his broad frame outlined against the fading fire, his expression one of dutiful blankness. Adrien, already dressed in a severe black doublet, nodded once from his chair by the dead hearth, his knuckles white where they gripped the armrest. Amara, still in her shift, watched Kellan approach the bed, her own heart a silent, furious drum against her ribs. Then she looked past him, locking eyes with Adrien, and saw the raw, screaming ruin behind his emperor’s mask.
It was the look of a man watching his own execution. Amara held that devastated gaze for a heartbeat longer, a silent message passing between them in the grey light. Then she broke the contact, her face smoothing into an impassive slate. She gave a single, slow nod to the room, to the circumstance, to the brutal practicality of it all.
AMARA NODS AND LEANS BACK ON THE BED, the linen shift whispering against the sheets as she arranged herself upon the cold expanse. "Let's be done with it," she said, her voice devoid of inflection, aiming the words at the canopy above. Kellan's weight dipped the mattress, his hands rough and efficient as he pushed the shift up her thighs, past her hips, exposing her to the damp dawn air. He didn't look at her face, his focus on the blunt mechanics of the act, his fingers prodding between her legs without ceremony. "Just relax, it'll go easier," he muttered.
He fumbled with his trousers, freeing a flaccid cock.
He tried to stroke himself to stiffness, his calloused hand moving with a rough, utilitarian rhythm over the soft flesh. Nothing happened. A tense, silent minute stretched, broken only by the groan of the bedframe and the crackle of the dying fire.
Amara raised an eyebrow, her gaze cold and assessing on his limp cock. "You are aware that you must be hard to do this?" she asked, her voice flat.
He let out a frustrated grunt, his face flushing. "It’s nerves," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. "A lot of pressure, producing an heir." He gave himself a few more rough, futile tugs. "He tried to get hard. I’m sorry," he said, the apology sounding hollow and directed at the room more than her.
"Can anyone get it up in this cursed room?" Amara groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillow with a thud.
Kellan’s face hardened with a brute’s determination, and he spat into his palm, slicking his still-soft cock before pressing its blunt head against her. “It’ll go,” he grunted, pushing forward with his hips, a dry, punishing pressure that made Amara gasp and her body seize in protest.
The pain was a bright, shocking tear as the unyielding softness of him forced against her unwilling body. She flinched, her hips twisting away instinctively, and stared up at his strained face. “IYou’re going to put it in soft?” The words fell from her lips, half-disbelief, half-disgust.
He cursed, a low, ugly sound, and shoved her thighs apart wider with his knees. “It’ll get there,” he panted, rutting against her with short, grinding thrusts that burned without penetrating, a grotesque parody of the act itself.
“Stop,” she commanded, her voice slicing through his grunts, and she glared up at him, her eyes blazing with a contempt so pure it scalded. Kellan truly looked at her face then, saw the sharp, elegant lines of her cheekbones flushed with anger, the fierce intelligence in her gaze, and he thought, so pretty, and his cock immediately hardened, thickening violently against her thigh in a swift, betraying surge. “There it is,” he snarled, triumph cutting through his frustration as he gripped his now rigid length, the head slick and purple. He positioned himself again, not at her entrance, but higher, rubbing the throbbing tip through the coarse thatch of her pubic hair, smearing pre-cum on her skin. “See what you did?” he breathed, his voice rough with a sudden, ugly hunger.
“WHAT I DID?” SHE QUESTIONED, her voice icy and sharp, even as he notched the head of his cock against her. He didn’t answer, just drove into her with a single, brutal thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in her tight, unresisting body. Amara’s breath hitched, a sharp gasp swallowed by the sound of his groan, the pain a bright, clarifying fire. He fucked her with quick, deep strokes, his hips slapping against her thighs, the bed shuddering with each drive. She turned her head, seeking Adrien’s eyes across the room, and found him staring, his face a ghostly mask in the grey light.
He was a statue of polished anguish, every muscle rigid, his gaze trapped on the point where their bodies joined. Kellan’s rhythm grew faster, more slamming, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunted, his voice thick with a pleasure that felt like a violation all its own. Then, his hand slid down from her hip, his thick fingers pushing through her folds, finding the swollen nub of her clit.
KELLAN WATCHED HER FACE BRINGING HIS HAND TO HER CLIT. SHE WAS GLARING AT HIM BUT ENDED UP GASPING. A sharp, traitorous sound escaped her lips as his calloused thumb rubbed a rough, insistent circle against her, the sensation a shocking bolt that spliced through the pain. Her body arched, a betraying reflex, and she bit down hard on her own tongue, the coppery taste of blood flooding her mouth as she stared, wide-eyed and furious, at Adrien’s shattered face across the room.
The shock of her own response, that sharp gasp he’d ripped from her, was a poison in her veins. With a violence that cracked her wrist, she seized his hand and shoved it away from her clit. “This is duty, not pleasure,” she spat, the words raw and guttural. Then she turned her head on the pillow, seeking Adrien’s shattered gaze once more, and let her own eyes soften, holding his with a clarity that cut through the grunting animal rhythm above her. I didn’t, her look said, just for him, I didn’t do that for him.
His rhythm turned frantic and sloppy, his thrusts losing all pretence of ceremony as he neared his end. “Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, his voice thick and mindless, and with three final, jarring slams of his hips, he shuddered, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he came.
A hot, wet rush flooded her, the intimate violation complete. He pulled out with a wet sound, stuffing his softening dick back into his trousers without a glance at the mess he’d made. “It’s done,” he said to the room, his tone flat now, emptied of even animal passion, and he turned and left without another word, the chamber door clicking shut behind him.
The silence he left behind was thicker than the darkness before dawn. Amara lay very still, feeling the warm, wet trickle between her thighs, a stark contrast to the room's chill. She pushed herself up on trembling arms, the linen shift falling back to her knees, and looked at the rumpled sheets beneath her.
There, stark against the white linen, was a smudge of bright, crimson blood. She stared at it, her breath caught in her throat, then lifted her gaze to find Adrien still frozen in his chair. His eyes were fixed on that same mark.
SHE LOOKS AT THE SHEETS BLOOD- SHE NODS. IT IS DONE-