13. Ten

It was customary to feast before a kingship fast. However, unlike other feasts, which were often shared with the household, this one was to be treated as a more intimate meal, shared only with those closest to the elf who would become king. Husbands were expected to choose their wives, fathers their sons, and warriors the men who fought the fiercest by their side. It was also traditionally part of the consort courtship process, a time for would-be kings to formalize their interest in their queens to be.

At the feasting table, alliances could be forged that would reshape the empire and change the political landscape for generations to come.

Of course, all of that was lost on Elindir, who sulked at the small table, sitting as far away from me as possible. He eyed the plates of food as they were brought in with feigned disinterest, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else but at my table in a place of honor.

I studied Elindir across the table, noting the way his slender fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against the dark wood, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his angular features. The shimmering fabrics I had chosen for him suited him well, complementing his fiery hair and pale skin. Yet despite his beauty, his demeanor was as prickly as a rosebush, thorns ready to pierce any who dared to draw too close.

Taelyn sat to my right, the very vision of an elvish queen, all poise and manners. She wore a simple yet elegant midnight blue gown, her silver hair pinned up in a series of swooping loops around her ears.

She shifted slightly in her seat, addressing Elindir as a tr?ll placed a tray of thyme bread and honey spread on the table. "Are you unwell, Prince Elindir?"

"I'm fine," he said in that clipped human tongue of his.

Taelyn frowned and looked to me for a translation. Apparently, he didn't feel like speaking a proper language, and she didn't speak enough of his to understand.

I translated Elindir's curt response, my voice smooth and conciliatory. "He says he is fine, my lady, but that his exertions in the training yard have left him weary."

"It is not training that has left me weary," Elindir continued, and thankfully he saw fit to only grouse in his native tongue. "I tire of these power games."

"This is not a game," I replied in kind. "This is a sacred tradition for kings."

"Is that what you call it?" His eyes drifted to Taelyn, his meaning clear.

Another tr?ll came in with a carafe of wine, filling Taelyn's cup, but I stopped her and sent her on her way before she could fill Elindir's. Aryn had reported just before the feast that Elindir had a rare Savarran vintage brought up to his quarters, and it was clear he'd gone through most of it before coming down. He wasn't quite drunk, but he certainly wasn't sober.

"The prince doesn't need any more wine tonight," I told her and sent her away.

"He certainly does if he is expected to sit through this dinner," Elindir groused.

"Perhaps I will take water instead," Taelyn suggested, and the tr?ll rushed off to fetch her a cup of water.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, studying Elindir with an appraising gaze. His fiery defiance, while alluring in its own way, would not serve him well here. The ways of the elvish court were intricate and nuanced, a delicate dance of power and persuasion that he had yet to master.

"You must be sober to perform your duty," I said firmly to Elnidir.

He scoffed. "What duty? Have I not given you enough already, your grace? Or was it not enough for me to lie beneath you like some maiden on the night you wed another?" He glanced over at Taelyn.

I fixed Elindir with a warning look, my voice low and full of warning. "You forget yourself, Prince Elindir. I suggest you hold your tongue, lest you say something you will come to regret."

"Why? She has no idea what I'm saying. We might as well speak freely about the nature of our relationship." Elindir met my gaze defiantly, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. In the candlelight, his hair shone like burnished copper, a wild and untamed force of nature.

I was struck by the sudden urge to reach across the table and trail my fingers through those fiery locks, to feel the silken strands slide against my skin. I tamped down on the impulse, focusing instead on the delicate balance of power that hung between us.

"Savarran wine makes you a petulant drunk," I observed.

He snorted. "I'm not drunk. I'm angry."

"Because I asked you to come on a hunt with me?"

"Because you asked me to play a part in this mummers' farce," Elindir snapped, his words dripping with venom. "To sit here and pretend to be honored by your attentions, when we both know the truth."

His accusation hung heavy in the air, sharp and bitter as the scent of wormwood. I felt a flicker of irritation at his moodiness, mingled with a grudging respect for his unflinching honesty. It was a rare quality in the elvish court, where pretty lies and gilded half-truths were the currency of the realm.

I leaned forward, my voice a silken purr. "And what truth is that, my prince? That you pretend to despise me even as you crave my touch? That you want me to be rough with you, but lack the courage to ask me to hold you down and fuck you like you want?"

Elindir's eyes widened, a flush rising to his pale cheeks. For a moment, I thought he might lunge across the table and strike me. But he merely clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the stem of his empty wine glass until I feared it might shatter.

"You presume too much," he ground out through gritted teeth.

I allowed myself a small, knowing smile. "I presume to know exactly why you pick these fights and what you hope to achieve, even if you do not."

"Is everything alright, your grace?" Taelyn's voice was soft, yet held an undercurrent of steel. She may play the demure bride, but I knew the shrewd mind that lurked beneath that placid exterior.

I turned to her with a reassuring smile, switching effortlessly to the elvish tongue. "Of course, my lady. The prince and I were merely discussing the finer points of court etiquette. I'm afraid some things may have been... lost in translation." I pushed out the chair next to me. "Come, Elindir. Sit. No more games."

"I'm perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you," he offered coldly.

I sighed and got up, gripping my chair by the back. The ancient wood protested loudly as I dragged my chair around the table to place it next to his.

Elindir frowned, but made no move to scoot away. "Why am I here, Ruith?"

"Because I asked you to be." I selected a slice of bread and spread a liberal amount of honey over it. "And because it is your duty as my second to ensure that I do not die before reaching the mountain for my hunt." I held out the honeyed bread for him to take a bite, but Elindir moved away from me.

"I'm not letting you feed me," he said.

"You will," I replied, "And you will feed me. That is the duty of my second."

Elindir's eyes blazed with defiance, but after a long moment, he relented. He leaned forward and took a reluctant bite of the proffered bread, his lips brushing against my fingers. The fleeting contact sent a jolt of electricity through me, igniting a hunger that had nothing to do with the food before us.

I watched as he chewed slowly, the muscles of his jaw working beneath the smooth skin. When he swallowed, I traced the movement of his throat with my eyes, remembering how it felt to press my lips against his skin.

Elindir reached for a slice of bread and dipped it in the honey, holding it out to me with a challenging look in his eyes. I leaned in, never breaking eye contact as I took a deliberate bite. The sweet, cloying taste of the honey mixed with the earthy flavor of the bread on my tongue, but it was the heat of Elindir's gaze that consumed me.

We continued this dance, feeding each other morsels of food as the candles burned lower. With each bite, the tension between us grew, a palpable force that crackled in the air like static before a storm. I was acutely aware of every movement Elindir made, every shift of his lithe body in the chair beside me.

Taelyn watched us with a carefully neutral expression, sipping delicately at her water. If she sensed the undercurrent of desire that pulsed between us, she said nothing of it. She did, however, make a valiant effort to engage in polite conversation. She inquired about the preparations for the kingship hunt, her voice melodic yet strained. "What do you plan to hunt, your grace?"

I tore my gaze away from Elindir's defiant eyes to address her. "I shall leave it to the gods to decide, my lady. Whatever they provide, I'm certain it will be more than enough."

She frowned. "And what if you find nothing up there? It is nearly winter. Even bears bed down for the snow."

Elindir scoffed under his breath, muttering in his native tongue, "As if anything could stop the great Ruith Starfall from claiming his prize."

I placed a hand on his thigh beneath the table, my fingers digging into the taut muscle in warning. Elindir stiffened but did not pull away, his own hand clenching into a fist on the tabletop.

I offered my wife a pleasant smile. "There is always prey if one knows where to look."

Taelyn's brow furrowed slightly as she considered my words. "I suppose that is true. The gods provide for those who are worthy. I shall pray for your success, your grace."

"Your prayers are most welcome, my lady," I replied smoothly, inclining my head in a gesture of gratitude. Beneath the table, I allowed my hand to slide higher up Elindir's thigh, my fingers tracing idle patterns against the rich fabric of his trousers.

He shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat, his breath hitching in his throat. I could feel the heat of his skin through the layers of cloth, the coiled tension in his muscles as he fought to maintain his composure.

"I imagine our customs must seem quite strange to you, Prince Elindir," Taelyn said, turning her attention to my reluctant dinner companion.

Elindir cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "We have similar rituals in Ostovan, though they are not quite so... elaborate." His voice wavered slightly as my hand found the laces of his trousers, deftly loosening them beneath the concealing drape of the tablecloth.

"Oh? Please, go on," Taelyn encouraged, leaning forward with genuine interest. "I would love to hear more about your customs."

"The would-be king must prove his worth through a series of trials - tests of strength, cunning, and valor," Elindir began.

As Elindir began to speak of the coronation rites of his homeland, I slipped my hand inside his trousers, my fingers curling around the hot, hard length of his cock. He faltered mid-sentence, his words trailing off into a choked gasp.

I stroked him slowly, teasingly, relishing the way his body tensed and how he fought not to shudder under my touch. Elindir gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white with the effort of maintaining his composure.

Taelyn frowned, concern etched on her delicate features. "Are you quite alright, Prince Elindir? You look a bit flushed."

"I'm well," Elindir managed, his voice strained. "It's just... the wine. It's stronger than I'm used to."

I tightened my grip, my thumb swirling over the sensitive head of his cock, gathering the beads of moisture that had begun to form there. Elindir's hips twitched, a barely perceptible motion, but I felt the tremor that ran through him.

"Please, go on," Taelyn urged.

"I…" Elindir's breathing was fast, sweat gathering at his temple. "Where was I?"

"Tests of strength, cunning, and valor," Taelyn provided.

Elindir drew a shaky breath, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. "Yes, the…The trials. The future king must... must prove himself worthy of the crown. He has to best his opponents in a tourney and outsmart them in games of strategy."

As he spoke, I increased the pace of my strokes, my hand gliding along his shaft with practiced ease. I could feel him throbbing in my grip, his pulse racing beneath the silken skin. Elindir's voice wavered, his words punctuated by barely suppressed gasps and hitches of breath.

Taelyn listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration. "And what happens if the would-be king fails these trials?"

Elindir swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Theoretically, he is deemed unworthy of the throne. The crown passes to the next in line, usually a brother or a cousin. But that never happens. These days, the tourneys are…they're…" He closed his eyes and clenched his fists on the tabletop.

"Rigged?" I provided, twisting my wrist on the upstroke, applying just the right amount of pressure to make Elindir's hips jerk involuntarily.

He nodded. "Yes." A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, glistening in the candlelight.

"Much like the ritual hunts have become for us," I added, speaking to Taelyn without stopping. "I imagine the tourney knights likely turn their sword aside and let their king strike them."

Elindir's breathing grew more ragged as he struggled to maintain his composure, even as my hand worked him relentlessly beneath the table. "It's all for show," he managed, his voice tight with barely contained pleasure. "A display of pageantry to appease the masses."

Taelyn regarded him with a mixture of concern and curiosity, her head tilted slightly to the side. "Are you certain you're well, Prince Elindir? You seem quite... distressed."

"I assure you, I'm f-fine," Elindir managed, his voice strangled and uneven. His hips twitched beneath my hand, his body instinctively seeking more of my touch even as he tried to resist. "The wine has simply gone to my head. I fear I may have overindulged."

I allowed myself a small, private smile at his pitiful attempt at deception. My fingers danced along his shaft, tracing the prominent veins and circling the weeping tip with maddening slowness. Elindir's cock throbbed in my grasp, hot and heavy and desperate for release.

"Perhaps we should adjourn to the sitting room for tea," Taelyn suggested, her brow creased with worry. "The change of scenery might do you some good, Prince Elindir."

Elindir opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word, his body went rigid beneath my hand. His cock pulsed and twitched as he climaxed, hot spurts of his seed coating my fingers as I stroked him through his release.

A strangled gasp escaped his lips, his eyes widening in a mix of ecstasy and horror. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as he fought to maintain some semblance of control. But even as he tried to disguise his climax as a cough or a pained grimace, the flush that crept up his neck and the glassy sheen in his eyes betrayed the truth.

"Goodness, should we fetch a healer?" Taelyn asked, concern etched on her delicate features. She half-rose from her seat, as if to come to his aid.

"No, I'm…I'm fine," Elindir managed through gritted teeth, his voice strained and breathless. He waved her off with a trembling hand. "Just a... a cramp…in my…in my leg."

I withdrew my hand from his trousers, discreetly wiping my fingers on the napkin in my lap. The scent of his release clung to my skin, musky and intoxicating. I could still feel the heat of him, the way his body had shuddered and tensed beneath my touch.

Taelyn frowned, not entirely convinced by his performance, but if she had any idea what we were up to, she was polite enough not to bring it up.

I leaned back in my chair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of my mouth as I watched Elindir struggle to compose himself. His cheeks were flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps. He refused to meet my gaze, his eyes fixed resolutely on the table before him, as if he could will away the evidence of his climax through sheer force of will.

Taelyn regarded him with a mixture of concern and suspicion, her keen eyes darting between us as she tried to puzzle out the source of Elindir's distress. She analyzed every minute detail - the flush of Elindir's skin, the tremor in his hands, the barely concealed triumph in my expression.

I smiled and clapped my hands together. "Now, who's ready for dessert?"