5. Renowlf

Bloodlust courses through my veins,fueling the urge to draw my sword and punish the one who disrupts my court.

Once upon a time, when my brother ruled over our people and I was his second, that is exactly what I would have done: lashed out with brutal force to maintain order. Now, however, I am the king, which means I must delegate the satisfying act of punishment to my own trusted second.

With a low growl, I turn to Dolphus and quietly convey my commands, keeping my voice hushed so that none can overhear the task I set before him.

The wounded female cowers on the floor, and I fight the urge to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from those who wish her harm. A king cannot act on every urge, especially when he is holding court before his subjects; decorum and ceremony are expected of the one who wears the crown. I take solace in knowing the female is safe within the walls of my kingdom, even if she does not realize it yet.

Ragowlf might have spared the life of Orgel the Trader because my brother was raised to rule from the throne with a firm yet forgiving hand. And the female did strike Orgel first. Yet I was raised to rule on the battlefield where mercy is a weakness that gets warriors killed. And in my kingdom, striking a helpless female is punishable by death.

Yet there is another reason why the trader has to die. A reason too shocking to voice out loud or share with others just yet. A reason I am still struggling to understand, to comprehend, to even believe.

The breeding slave's scent made my cockspikes erupt, and the once-silent beast within me roared to life, claiming her as MINE!

This only happens when an orc male meets his genetically perfect match…a female who is fated to become his mate and bear his children. The universe has deemed this strange human female to be that perfect counterpart to me, and every fiber of my being cries out for her, yearning to make her mine in every sense of the word.

As a young male, I was taught about the importance of cockspikes and cautioned that few male orcs are fortunate enough to experience their eruption. Despite all orcs having the biological urge to mate, the act of mating itself does not result in offspring.

Unless a male meets his fated mate.

Only then do the soft, seed-filled spikes that lie dormant within his cock rise to the surface of his shaft, rapidly vibrating in anticipation of their release.

Since the female who triggered my cockspikes is injured, I might argue that their eruption is less of a blessing and more of a curse. The emergence of my spikes at this inopportune moment heightens my arousal, keeping my cock painfully erect.

How is it possible for the small, dirty female to be my perfect match? Her fragile human form seems ill-suited for the demands of being an orc"s mate. Yet the undeniable truth throbs within my aching shaft, the seed-filled spikes pulsing with the instinctive drive to release their potent load deep inside her womb.

The beast within me recognizes her as the one, and that primal knowledge overrides all logic and reason. My cock yearns for the soft, slick depths of her feminine heat, hungering to mark her as mine in the most primitive way.

When Orgel struck the female fated to be mine, the beast she awakened wanted to tear him apart, limb by limb. Never has the desire to kill been so strong within me. Battlefield-hardened self-control coupled with my royal training are the only things that stopped me from acting on this innate impulse. I hope that watching my second enact my revenge is nearly as satisfying as doing the deed myself.

Dolphus raises his sword over his head, the blade glinting menacingly. With a grunt of exertion, he brings the razor-sharp weapon down in a strong, forceful arc. The steel slices through flesh and bone with ease, severing the trader"s head from his shoulders in one clean stroke.

Orgel"s lifeless body crumples to the ground, dark blood spurting from the stump of his neck to pool beneath him. Although the kill is clean, at least the blood is gloriously messy, staining the floor in a grisly crimson puddle. It is a pity that Orgel"s death was swift and likely painless. The beast within me snarls in frustration, hungering to make the vile creature suffer for daring to strike what is mine.

Cheers erupt in the throne room, and I let the revelers enjoy the moment. There hasn't been a public execution since my brother was assassinated, and I had his killer executed in the town square. After nearly three full cycles of the seasons, a small celebration like this is welcome.

Dolphus kneels before me with his head bowed and presents his bloody sword. I take the weapon in hand, holding it high above my head as I rise from the throne. Orgel"s blood drips freely down my arm. "Let it be known that the breeding slave known as Mia is now protected by the Kingdom of Owlf. Anyone who dares to lay a hand on her will suffer a similar fate as Orgel the Trader."

My second punches his fist in the air and shouts, "All hail, King Renowlf!"

Hundreds of fists punch the air to a chorus of, "All hail, King Renowlf!"

"Take the breeding slave to Agavar," I quietly tell Dolphus. "Have my maid bathe, clothe, and feed her, then send for the healer to tend to her wounds."

"Yes, sire." I watch as the ever-dutiful Dolphus scoops the female into his arms and carries her away.

It angers my beast to let another male touch what is mine, although it cannot be helped. Once she is well enough, I will plant my seed in her womb. Soon, I will have the heir my family so desperately needs.

"Court is adjourned," I proclaim before stepping down from the dais and driving the bloody sword through the heart of Orgel's dead, headless body.