The oil lamp guttered, and Celestine's rose perfume had gone thick in my lungs, cloying and sweet as rot. She was bent over the chaise, her pastel gown bunched around her waist in a froth of silk, her delicate wrists braced against the crushed cushions, and she was screaming my name like a prayer and a curse in the same breath.

"Yes—yes, Xavier—" Her voice broke, pitched high and reedy, nothing like the soft breathy whispers she used at court. "Gods, yes, harder—"

I drove into her, my hips slapping against the curve of her ass, and she cried out, her fingers clawing at the silk. She was small everywhere, doll-like, a porcelain thing with a waist I could nearly span with my hands, and I'd learned in the first week that her fragility was a lie. She took me deep and she took me rough, and she begged for more.

"You like that?" I asked, my voice low against the nape of her neck. I'd gathered her black hair in my fist, the elaborate updo long since ruined, pins scattered across the floor like fallen stars. "You like being fucked by a conquered prince, Celestine?"

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, yes—"

"Better than your husband?"

Her laugh was a wrecked, breathless thing. "You're—you're not—" She moaned as I angled deeper, hitting something that made her whole body seize. "You're not even close. He's—he's nothing. He's a shadow. You're—"

I pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in, and she screamed.

"I'm what?"

"You're everything," she sobbed. "You're the only real thing in this whole fucking court—"

The lamp flame jumped, and I watched the shadows dance across the velvet drapes, long and wavering like something alive. The beeswax smell had melted into the heat of our bodies, the rose perfume gone sharp with sweat. Her cunt was slick and hot around my cock, gripping me with every thrust, and I could feel the tremor running through her thighs, the way she was already close.

"Tell me again," I said, and I slowed, drawing it out, making her wait. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," she whimpered. "I belong to you. Not to him. Never to him. He doesn't—he doesn't even see me—"

"He doesn't see you?" I reached around and found her clit with my thumb, and she bucked against me, her whole body going rigid.

"He sees—he sees what he wants to see. A doll. A—a decoration." Her voice was cracking, tears or sweat or both streaking her face. "He doesn't know I'm alive. He doesn't know I have—I have needs—"

"And what do you need?"

"You. This. Your—your cock inside me, always, forever—"

The door clicked open.

The sound was small—a latch lifting, a hinge turning—but it cut through the room like a blade. I froze, my cock still buried inside her, and I looked up.

Lord Varis Rourke stood on the threshold.

His colorless eyes were wide, his gaunt face gone even paler than its usual gray, and he was staring at us with the expression of a man who had just walked into a wall he'd somehow failed to see. The spymaster. The man who knew every secret in the kingdom, who moved without sound, who had hands that had done terrible things.

He hadn't known this one.

His wife, bent over the chaise, her gown around her waist, my cock inside her. His wife, who had been screaming my superiority over him moments ago.

The silence stretched, thick and terrible, and I felt Celestine go still beneath me. She hadn't heard him—she was too far gone—but she felt the change in my body, the halt of my rhythm, and she made a small, confused sound.

"Xavier?"

I didn't answer. I was watching Varis, watching the play of emotions across that forgettable face—shock first, then disbelief, then something darker, something I recognized with a cold thrill of satisfaction.

His hand moved to his belt.

I saw it, the exact moment his shock curdled into something else. His eyes dropped from my face to where I was joined with his wife, to the slick shine of my cock sliding in and out of her cunt, and his breath caught. His hand was on his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and I could see the outline of his arousal straining against his dark trousers.

The spymaster, who knew every secret in the kingdom, was getting hard watching me fuck his wife.

I smiled.

"Varis," I said, and my voice was calm, almost conversational. "I was wondering when you'd join us."

Celestine's head snapped up, her pale blue eyes going wide. "Varis—?" She tried to pull away, to cover herself, but I held her in place, my hand firm on her hip.

"No," I said quietly. "Let him watch."

Varis's hand had stopped on his belt, but he didn't move to rebuckle it. He stood frozen on the threshold, his colorless eyes fixed on us, and I saw the hunger warring with the shock in his face. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be the wronged husband, the spymaster who had been cuckolded under his own nose.

But his cock was hard, and he couldn't hide it.

"You've been—" His voice came out rough, cracked. "How long?"

"Weeks," I said, and I began to move again, slow, deliberate, letting him see every inch of it. "I've been fucking her for weeks, Varis. Right under your nose." Celestine moaned, her body betraying her, and I watched his jaw tighten. "Your informants. Your network. The men who watch every shadow in this kingdom." I thrust deeper, and she cried out. "They couldn't catch what was happening in your own bed."

His hand moved again, faster this time, and I heard the clink of his belt buckle coming undone.

"You're—" He swallowed, his throat working. "You're a prisoner. A conquered prince. You're nothing—"

"I'm fucking your wife," I said flatly. "And you're watching. And you're stroking yourself." I nodded at his hand, which had slipped inside his trousers. "Don't stop on my account."

He made a sound, low and strangled, and I saw the last of his resistance crumble. He pulled his cock out—pale, hard, leaking—and began to stroke it, his eyes never leaving the place where I was buried inside his wife.

Celestine looked back at me, her face flushed, her eyes wild. "Xavier—what—what are you—"

"Shh," I said. "Let him watch. Let him see what he's been missing."

I drove into her harder, and she screamed, her body clenching around me. Varis's hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and I watched him from the corner of my eye, cataloguing every detail like a general surveying a battlefield.

The spymaster. The man who knew everything.

Brought to his knees by his own cock.

"You see her?" I asked, and my voice was low, almost gentle. "You see how she takes me? How she begs for it?" I pulled out until only the head of my cock was inside her, then slammed back in, and Celestine sobbed. "She's been begging for weeks. Begging for a real man. Begging for someone who knows how to fuck her."

"Stop—" Varis gasped, but his hand didn't stop. His strokes were getting faster, more desperate. "You can't—you can't just—"

"I can," I said. "I have. And I will again." I reached down and grabbed Celestine's hip, pulling her back onto me, setting a brutal rhythm that made the chaise creak beneath us. "And you'll watch. Because you can't help yourself. Because you're a pathetic, cuckolded excuse for a man, and you love it."

"You think I love this?" Varis's voice cracked, his hand working his cock with frantic, desperate strokes. "You think I want to see my wife—my wife—"

"Say it," I said, and I slowed, drawing the moment out. "Say what you're watching."

"Your—" He choked on the words. "Your cock. In my wife."

"And?"

"And she's—she's taking it. She's—" His breath hitched. "She's enjoying it."

"She's more than enjoying it," I said. "She's never been fucked like this, has she, Varis? You've never made her scream like I do. You've never made her beg." I thrust deep, holding myself there, and Celestine whimpered. "Have you?"

"No," he whispered, and the word was a confession, a surrender. "No, I haven't."

"Then watch," I said. "Watch what you could have had. Watch what you were too weak to give her."

Celestine moaned, her hips pushing back against me. "Varis—Varis, I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean what?" I asked, and I slapped her ass, hard enough to make her gasp. "You didn't mean to spread your legs for me the moment I looked at you? You didn't mean to beg me to fuck you in your own bed, on your own sheets, while your husband was out spying?"

"I—" She sobbed. "I couldn't help it. He's never—he never touches me. He never looks at me. I was so lonely—"

"Lonely," Varis repeated, and his voice was hollow. "You were lonely."

"Yes," she cried. "Yes, I was. And he—he saw me. He actually saw me. He made me feel—feel alive—"

I drove into her, and she screamed, her cunt clenching around me. "You hear that, Varis? Your wife was lonely. And I filled her. I filled every empty space in her." I pulled out until just the head remained, then slammed back in. "I filled her with my cock, and I filled her with my cum, and I filled her with the knowledge that she's worth more than a man who treats her like furniture."

"I don't—I don't treat her like—"

"You do," Celestine said, and her voice was raw, broken. "You do, Varis. You look through me. You always have. You married me because I was pretty and quiet and you thought I wouldn't cause trouble. But I have needs. I have desires. I have—" She gasped as I thrust deep. "I have a body that wants to be touched."

Varis's hand had gone still on his cock. He stared at his wife, at the mess I was making of her, at the way she was arching into me, and I saw something shatter behind his colorless eyes.

"I didn't know," he said, and his voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't—I thought you were happy."

"Happy?" She laughed, a wrecked, bitter sound. "Happy? I've been dying inside, Varis. Dying. And you never noticed. You never even looked."

He came with a strangled cry, his release spattering across the floorboards, his knees buckling beneath him. He dropped to the ground, his hand still working his cock, milking the last drops, and the shame and hunger warred in his colorless eyes.

I didn't stop.

I kept driving into Celestine, harder, faster, and she was sobbing now, her whole body shaking, her cunt clenching around me like a fist. The lamp flame danced, the shadows stretched, and the room smelled of sex and sweat and the raw, ugly truth of what we were doing.

"You came already?" I asked, and my voice was almost pitying. "That's it? The great spymaster, the man who knows every secret in the kingdom, and he can't last thirty seconds watching his wife get fucked?"

Varis looked up at me, his face flushed, his breath ragged. His cock was still hard, still leaking, and I saw the hunger in his eyes, the shameful need that had taken root in his chest.

"I—"

"You'll come again," I said. "You'll watch me finish her, and then you'll come again. And then we'll talk about what you owe me."

I turned my attention back to Celestine, driving into her with everything I had, and she was screaming now, incoherent, her delicate wrists straining against the cushions. Her cunt was dripping, soaking my cock, and I could feel her climax building, the trembling in her thighs, the way she was clenching around me with every thrust.

"Xavier—Xavier, please—"

"Please what?"

"Please—I need—I need to come—"

"Then come," I said. "Come on my cock. Let your husband watch you come on a conquered prince's cock."

She shattered with a scream, her body convulsing, her cunt milking me, and I let myself go, driving deep and emptying into her, my cock pulsing as I filled her with my cum. The heat of it, the slickness, the way she clenched around me as I came—it was everything, and I rode it out, thrusting through the aftershocks until I was spent.

I stayed inside her for a long moment, my forehead against her back, breathing hard. The lamp flickered. The shadows held their breath.

Then I pulled out, and my cum leaked from her, slick and white, running down her thighs.

Varis was still on his knees, his cock in his hand, his eyes fixed on the mess I'd made of his wife. He was stroking himself again, slow and desperate, and I saw the second orgasm building in his face, the way his jaw was clenched, the way his breath had gone shallow.

I watched him come again, silent and shaking, his release spilling across the floor, and I felt the cold satisfaction settle into my bones.

Another one broken.

Another piece of the kingdom in my pocket.

I left my cock inside her a moment longer, savoring the way her cunt clung to me, the aftershocks still rippling through her thighs. Then I withdrew with a wet sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence, and Celestine sagged forward against the chaise, her breath coming in ragged sobs. My cum was still leaking from her, a slick trail running down the inside of her thigh, and she made no move to clean herself. She just lay there, her face buried in the crushed silk, her black hair a tangled mess across her shoulders.

Varis hadn't moved from his knees. His cock was softening in his hand, his release pooling on the floorboards between his spread legs, and his colorless eyes were fixed on the mess I'd made of his wife. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his pale skin. He looked like a man who had just watched his entire world collapse and found, to his horror, that he wanted to watch it collapse again.

I stepped back, letting the air cool the sweat on my skin, and I took my time adjusting my trousers. Let him wait. Let him sit in the wreckage of his pride and feel the weight of what he'd just done. I could see the war in his face—the spymaster's cold logic fighting against the shameful heat that had pooled in his belly, the part of him that had liked watching his wife get fucked by a conquered prince.

"Get up," I said, and my voice was flat, commanding. "You're not done yet."

He looked up at me, his eyes blinking slowly, and for a moment I thought he might resist. But then he pushed himself to his feet, his hand dropping from his cock, and I saw the resignation settle into his gaunt features. He knew what I was going to ask. He knew what I was going to take. And he was going to give it to me, because the alternative—going back to his cold, empty bed, back to the wife who had been screaming another man's name—was worse.

"You're going to be my eyes," I said. "Every secret that passes through your network, every whisper that reaches your ears, you bring it to me first. You're going to tell me who the King trusts, who he's afraid of, and where the cracks in his armor are wide enough to slip a blade through."