Chapter 25: Feast of Flesh
The council chamber felt like a tomb lined with tapestries. The air, usually tinged with beeswax and old parchment, now smelled of fear-sweat and suspicion. Teresa sat at the head of the long table, her spine straight against the carved back of her chair, the picture of regal composure. To her right, Nate stood like a sentinel, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. To her left, Callum lounged with deceptive casualness, while Amberley and Chancellor Maynard completed the grim circle.
“The poison was in his evening water ration,” Maynard said, his voice brittle. “A distilled variant of belladonna. Quick, but not instantaneous. He would have suffered convulsions. In his cell, alone.” The Chancellor’s eyes flickered to Teresa, laden with unspoken accusation. Your prisoner. Your interrogation. Your failure.
“And the guard?” Teresa’s voice was cold marble.
“Garrett. Throat slit. Efficient. The weapon was his own dagger, taken from his belt.” Nate shifted his weight. “No signs of a struggle. He knew his killer.”
“So we have a traitor inside the Royal Guard,” Teresa stated, letting the words hang, watching their reactions.
Nate’s jaw tightened. “It appears so.”
“Or,” Callum drawled, examining his nails, “someone with enough skill to pass as one. Brayton employs mercenaries, but also former soldiers. Men who know our procedures.”
Amberley spoke softly. “The maid who found the body. She said she saw a shadow moving from the west wing into the servants’ passages. But she was… distraught. Her account was chaotic.”
Teresa’s mind churned. A phantom in the corridors. A dead turncoat. A silenced source. The conspiracy was tightening its ranks, cleaning house. She needed to shake the tree, see what fruit fell rotten. She needed her own allies closer than ever.
“Dismiss the general staff from the royal apartments tonight,” she commanded, looking at Nate. “Post only your personal guard. The ones you’d trust with your own life.”
“That’s a skeleton crew,” he warned.
“It’s a controlled environment. I want every face known. Every whisper accounted for.” She rose, her gown whispering against the stone floor. “Chancellor, double the patrols on the walls. Publicly. Let our unseen friends know we are rattled. Callum, write to your father. Use the diplomatic cipher. Suggest his grain shipments through Brayton’s ports have seen… unexpected levies.”
Callum nodded, a glint of understanding in his eyes.
“Amberley,” Teresa finished, her gaze softening a fraction. “Circulate at supper. Be radiant, be concerned. Lament the poor, poisoned soul and the brave guard. Grieve loudly. Listen silently.”
They dispersed, a current of grim purpose replacing the earlier shock. Teresa retired to her chambers, the weight of the crown pressing down on her temples. She dismissed her ladies-in-waiting with a tired wave. The silence of the vast room was oppressive.
She didn’t have to wait long. A discreet tap at the hidden panel near the bookshelf—a servant’s entrance—announced the first arrivals. Callum slipped in, followed by Amberley. Then Nate, his face still graven with professional doubt. Lastly, two new figures: Lord Lucien Perkins and his twin sister, Lady Maeve, their matching blonde hair and honey-brown eyes glinting in the candlelight. They were known to the court as charming peripherals, but Teresa knew their value. Lucien’s network of lovers and gossips was unparalleled, and Maeve’s seemingly airheaded ramblings were often perfectly aimed darts of information.
“A somber gathering,” Lucien said, his voice a melodic chime. He poured wine without being asked, handing a goblet to Maeve.
“We’re past somber,” Teresa replied, stripping off her overdress, leaving herself in a thin silk chemise. The need to feel something other than coiled tension was a physical ache. “We’re in the grave. And they’re shoveling dirt.”
Nate watched her, his guard’s mask slipping to reveal the raw conflict beneath. Duty warred with desire, protocol with a savage need to reclaim some shred of control.
Teresa walked to him. She took his face in her hands. “You need to stop fighting it,” she murmured, only for him. “The man you were yesterday is gone. He died on that tower with the mercenary.” She kissed him, hard, a claiming. He yielded, his mouth opening to hers with a groan of surrender.
That was the signal.
Callum moved to Maeve, his charming banter dropped. He kissed her neck, his hands sliding up her thighs, hiking her skirts. Lucien watched his sister for a moment, a curious smile on his lips, before turning to Amberley. “Shall we?” he asked, and she answered by pulling him into a deep, searching kiss.
Teresa led Nate to the edge of the grand bed. She pushed him down onto the silken coverlet and climbed over him, not kissing his mouth, but lowering herself onto his face. She settled her weight, the soaked silk of her undergarment then the hot, bare flesh beneath pressing against his lips. “Taste,” she commanded, her voice ragged. “Taste what you’re fighting for.”
Nate’s hands gripped her thighs, his tongue pushing through the fabric first, then, as she impatiently tore the silk aside, finding her directly. He ate her out with a desperate, focused intensity, his tongue spearing deep into her cunt before lapping broad, flat strokes over her clit. Teresa ground down against him, a low moan escaping her as she watched the others.
Callum had Maeve bent over a velvet divan, her dress around her waist. He was behind her, his cock, thick and flushed, nudging at her entrance. He didn’t wait, pushing into her with one smooth, powerful thrust. Maeve cried out, her hands gripping the fabric, her perfect mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Callum fucked her with a steady, driving rhythm, each thrust pushing her forward, his balls slapping against her.
Lucien and Amberley were a tangle of limbs on a deep rug, having shed their clothes. Amberley was on her back, Lucien between her legs, his own cock buried to the hilt inside her. He fucked her with a languid, sensual grace, his eyes locked on his sister’s face as Callum took her from behind.
“Switch,” Teresa gasped, the order tearing from her throat. She needed the control, the choreography. She needed to bind them all in this visceral, sweaty web.
Callum understood. With a final, deep thrust, he pulled out of Maeve, his cock gleaming with her wetness. Lucien withdrew from Amberley at the same instant. In a fluid, practiced motion, Lucien crossed to his sister. He positioned himself behind her, not kissing, not caressing, just aligning and shoving himself into her still-gaping hole. Callum’s seed leaked from her, a white trickle down her inner thigh.
Callum, now free, went to Amberley. He pulled her up, turned her, and entered her from behind in one motion, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.
But Teresa’s focus snapped to Amberley, who broke away from the kiss Lucien had claimed her with. Her emerald eyes, dark with lust, fixed on Maeve. She crawled across the floor to where Maeve was braced, being fucked by her own brother. Amberley leaned in, her tongue extending, and licked a long, slow stripe up Maeve’s thigh, collecting the mess of Callum’s spend.
Teresa’s own climax was building, a tight coil in her belly fed by the obscene tableau. “Amberley,” she demanded. “Here.”
Amberley turned, her lips slick. She rose, walked to the bed, and captured Teresa’s mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. The taste was salt and musk and another woman’s pleasure. Teresa groaned into it, her hips rocking faster against Nate’s relentless tongue. Amberley’s hand slipped between Teresa’s legs, fingers joining Nate’s mouth, stroking her clit in rough, perfect circles.
It was the final trigger. Teresa’s orgasm slammed into her, a silent, shattering wave that tore a choked scream from her throat. Her cunt clenched wildly, soaking Nate’s face. He drank her down, his own hips bucking against the empty air.
Seeing Teresa come, feeling her sister’s body convulse around him, sent Lucien over the edge. He swore, a crude, guttural word, and hammered into Maeve, his release pumping into her in hot pulses.
The symphony of curses and cries tipped Callum and Amberley. Callum pounded into Amberley one last time, his shout mingling with her sob as she peaked around him, her body shuddering.
They collapsed, a heap of panting, sweat-slicked bodies. The air was thick with the pungent smell of sex and exertion. For long minutes, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and their slowing breath.
Teresa finally rolled off Nate, lying on her back beside him. She looked at the ceiling, at the embroidered crest of her family—a lion and a rose. Symbols of strength and beauty, both now stained with blood and secrets.
Maeve was the first to speak, her voice husky. “The shadow the maid saw,” she said, as if commenting on the weather. “It wasn’t heading towards the servants’ quarters. It was coming from the west wing library.”
All heads turned to her.
Lucien, still nestled inside her, raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention that, sister.”
“You were busy,” she said, a faint smile on her lips. “But I know the maid. She’s a simple girl. She’d confuse a shadow moving from the library with one moving towards the passages. The library… where the treaty drafts with Brayton are kept.”
Silence, heavier than before, settled over them.
Teresa sat up, every muscle singing. The game had just shifted again. The poison, the murder, the spy in the guard—it was all connected to the treaties.
“Get dressed,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “We have reading to do.”
The heavy silence after Maeve’s revelation was punctuated by ragged breaths. The scent of sex hung in the air, metallic and sweet, a stark contrast to the cold politics now clattering back into the room. Teresa’s command had been issued, but the animal heat of the moment still coiled around them, a tangible thread binding their sweat-slicked skin.
Callum, still sheathed inside Amberley, chuckled darkly. “A diplomatic cipher first, or a thorough debriefing?” He gestured vaguely at their entwined bodies.
“We’re already debriefed,” Lucien murmured, finally pulling out of his sister with a soft, wet sound. He looked at the mingled mess on his softening cock, then at the others. “Thoroughly.”
A raw, kinetic energy still charged the space between them. It was Nate who moved first, pushing himself up from the bed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze locking with Teresa’s. Something had solidified in him during her climax, a feral acceptance. “Before we go,” he said, his voice rough, “we seal it.”
Teresa understood. Words were the currency of court, slippery and duplicitous. This was something else. A pact written in salt and seed. She nodded, a swift, sharp dip of her chin.
They converged in the center of the room, a messy, beautiful tangle of limbs. Callum and Amberley disengaged, joining the loose circle. Maeve rose from the divan, her thighs glistening. They stood, naked and vulnerable, looking at each other—princess, prince, guard, courtier, twin.
Teresa initiated it. She pulled Nate to her, kissing him deeply, letting him taste herself on her tongue. As they kissed, she reached blindly, her hand finding Callum’s shoulder, pulling him in. He turned Amberley’s face towards him, kissing her, his hand guiding her head towards Lucien.
It became a slow, carousel of mouths. Lucien kissed Maeve, a brotherly press that quickly deepened, his tongue slipping between her lips to taste the echoes of Callum. Maeve, breaking away, turned and found Amberley’s mouth, sharing that taste.
Nate passed Teresa to Callum. Callum’s kiss was all conquering arrogance, his tongue plunging into her mouth as his hands gripped her ass. She could taste Amberley on him, and something muskier, saltier—Maeve. She broke the kiss, panting, and turned to Lucien.
Lucien’s mouth was on hers, hungry and artful. The flavor was complex, layered: his sister’s slick, Amberley’s sweetness, his own distinct male tang. She sucked on his tongue, gathering the cocktail of their spent pleasure.
Amberley was kissing Nate, her small hands cupping his jaw. She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting their lips, and leaned into Teresa. Their kiss was slower, more exploring. Teresa licked into Amberley’s mouth, scavenging the traces of Lucien and Callum. She could taste the distinct, sour note of Lucien’s seed, stolen from Maeve’s thigh.
The circle continued, a silent, filthy oath. Callum kissed Maeve again, his tongue lapping at the creampie left by his brother now coating her inner lips. Nate kissed Lucien, a brutal, grinding clash of stubble and lips, swapping the tastes of Teresa and Amberley. Every kiss transferred proof of the acts that bound them, a mingling of cum and saliva and the unique flavors of each woman’s arousal.
Finally, they broke apart, breathing heavily. Their mouths were smeared, their chins damp. The shared taste, a pungent, intimate blend of all of them, lingered on every tongue. No vow spoken in the vaulted hall could ever be this binding.
Teresa wiped her mouth with her wrist, her eyes fierce. “Now we go.”
They dressed in a focused, wordless hurry. Silk and wool replaced naked skin, each garment a piece of armor clicking back into place. Nate buckled his sword belt with a definitive snap. Callum fastened his tunic, the charming prince once more, though his green eyes held a new, grim knowledge.
They moved through the palace like ghosts, using the passages known only to the royal family and their closest guards. The west wing library was a cavern of shadows and knowledge, the treaty drafts resting on a lectern under a single, guttering candle.
Maeve went straight to a shelf, her fingers tracing spines. “The maid’s shadow was here,” she whispered. “Between the tax codes and the old genealogies. A useless gap, unless you knew.”
Lucien joined her, pushing. A section of shelving gave way with a soft click, revealing a shallow cavity. Empty. But the smell of recently scraped parchment and a single, dropped wax seal—Brayton’s crest—remained.
“They got here first,” Callum stated, the truth cold and obvious.
“But they were rushed,” Nate said, kneeling. He picked up a sliver of broken glass from the floor. “A vial. For the poison, maybe. Broken in haste.”
Teresa’s mind, still humming from the chemical bond of the six-way kiss, pieced it together with vicious clarity. “The killer poisoned Lucien in the dungeon. Came straight here to retrieve something from this hide. Garrett interrupted them. Garrett died.” She looked at the broken glass. “They dropped the vial retrieving their prize. They have what they wanted.”
“So we’re behind,” Amberley said, her voice small in the vast dark.
“No,” Teresa corrected, a slow, dangerous smile touching her lips. She held up the wax seal. “We know what they wanted. And we know they’re clumsy. They left a trail.” She looked at each of them, her blue eyes reflecting the feeble candlelight. “Now we hunt.”