For years, the faceless terror known as the Hand of Fate has been secretly manipulating the port city of Reyza for her shadowy ends. Those she favors rise in status while those who betray her are never heard from again. When the opportunity to elimi...
Jarle Rigo Iarris's fingertips tapped ominously on his lover's back.
Beneath the sheets, a man groaned. "Sleep, Rigo, for gods' sake, or the morning will find you red-eyed and ill-tempered."
Rigo's long, bony fingers ceased. "How do you do it, Neylen? How can you sleep knowing that at this very moment Tan'os Ensther and that cunt daughter of his are meeting their maker?"
Neylen rolled on his back. "I forbid you to squander another night worrying about that giant fool."
Rigo cocked his head to one side. "Remind me again why your plan is infallible?"
Neylen sighed and folded his arms under his head. "Trust me; there is no need for concern. By morning, the Vise will be dead and so will his daughter. The man I hired is one of the best, and the one who will tie up the loose ends should something go wrong, is nothing short of legendary."
Rigo twirled Neylen's long braid between his fingers. "And if he lives?"
"If who lives, Rigo?"
"Tan'os!"
Neylen gave his lover a piercing look. "You haven't been listening, have you?"
"This is serious, Neylen. What if Tan'os somehow survives?"
Exasperation tinged Neylen's voice. "You will pretend to be shocked about the attempted assassination and launch a proper investigation. The criminals will be brought to justice, tried and found guilty. As a wedding gift, you will present your bride their heads on a platter, then live joyously ever after. You will sire many children, grow fat and lazy, and forget all about me."
Nervous laughter burst from Rigo's lips. "You're smug, aren't you?"
Neylen threw the sheets off his body and flashed him a charming smile. "I am confident; there is a difference."
Rigo met the Dessian's black eyes—the signature trait of his Yerr'draki ancestry. The soulless orbs, like those of a shark, reflected no light. "Always so amusing, your kind."
"My kind?" Neylen feigned offense. "I am not so different from you. We desire the same things, do we not?"
Rigo's face softened as he recalled the Feast of Bel'Tahïm; the night he met Neylen. Sacred pyres illuminated the squares and wreaths of greenwood adorned every home. The scent of ash and revelry traveled upwind from the ocean to the noses of the wealthy, whose lavish masquerades often dictated the course of politics. Spring flowers hung in garlands inside his winter garden, where couples twirled to the music of the bards. The Dessian diplomat arrived in a coach drawn by windbeasts, whose lashing tongues sent palace valets scattering. All eyes turned to Neylen, whose bronzed flesh gleamed with gold dust. The man took two steps at a time, strutting into the banquet hall like a long-forgotten god.
Rigo sucked on Neylen's nipple before nipping it with his teeth. "Yes, I suppose we have many desires in common. Mutual hatred for that northern prick tops the list."
"Despite what you may believe, I do not share your bed out of gratitude, though I am grateful for your commitment to my nation's plight. Let us not discuss business. Trade is as dry a subject as Dessia's vistas." Neylen grabbed Rigo by the scruff of his neck and brought his face down over the planes of his abdomen. "Use your tongue, Highness, allow me to put your mind at ease."
Rigo grazed Neylen's belly with his lips and allowed the Dessian to guide his lips. He flicked his tongue over his lover's cock, then established a slow, gulping rhythm. Slowly, like a snake swallowing its prey, he worked the huge shaft down his throat.
Neylen threw his head back and caressed Rigo's shoulders. "Mmm, just like that," he moaned.
Rigo sucked the upthrust cock, taking pride in his newfound abilities. He loved the way Neylen's body quivered with the right twist of his tongue; the way his head rolled and his toes curled. In Neylen, Rigo had found an ally, a mentor, and a confidant. He could not recall a happier moment than the night they plotted the Vise's demise.
Neylen's stomach muscles rippled as his cock disappeared into Rigo's mouth. "This night," the Dessian said breathlessly, "Tan'os meets his death at the hands of Maél Aodhan, a fiend known as Mast, whose poisoned blades are said to have sent more souls to Ven's Needle than entire wars."
When Rigo rose to respond, Neylen pushed him back down. "I am not finished," he gasped. "To obscure our involvement...I hired..." Neylen trembled as his glans pushed into the confines of Rigo's throat. "The Hand of Fate! By Thul," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't stop!"
A frisson of delight clenched Rigo's belly. Every Reyzan feared the Hand of Fate. People spoke of the frightening, mythical figure of a thousand faces only in whispers. The Fate's enemies died in their sleep, or worse, they disappeared, never to be heard of again.
Rigo's eyes welled up with tears as he surrendered to the furious pace set by his lover's hands. Excitement mingled with desire as Neylen's thighs trembled and his groans filled the room. Hot flesh impaled his throat and expanded.
With an explosion of breath, the Dessian convulsed, and emptied himself in Rigo's mouth. Rigo squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to swallow the thick cream. When he looked up, the Dessian smiled.
"Are you pleased?" Neylen asked.
Rigo wiped tears from his eyes. "Yesss, yes," he purred.
"Come then," Neylen said, patting the bed, "sleep. Tomorrow will challenge us."
Rigo crawled under the sheets and curled into his lover's side. A satisfied grin curled the corners of his lips. Come morning, Tan'os Ensther and his kin would be dead.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Thank you for stopping by and reading! We'd love to hear from you.
Please vote if you liked the chapter.
We love stars and promise to answer any questions.
