Chapter 5 The Beastly Rut

CALYRA VEYNE

Calyra watched in silence as the century-bound king retreated into the depths of his shadow-drenched cell. The silver chain was tethered to the runes-carved iron collar around his neck, and it clinked with every slow, predatory step he took.

How ironic, the clinks echoed like a power that is caged and also madness that is restrained. His figure blended into the darkness until even his silhouette was swallowed whole.

Calyra wondered, not for the first time, if life was truly worth enduring for a king like him. Wouldn't death be kinder than this?

Than more than a century of solitude, of chains and cruel games? He could end it all and slip into silence, let oblivion take him. But instead, he lived...

Living as a breathing weapon. A beast paraded for the nine Alphas' court pleasure; why would he do that to himself? Or could he not just do himself the favor of death?

And somehow, that choice made the darkness and terror of his words feel even heavier.

Calyra couldn't stop wondering, especially why he would tell her all that. All that warning-why would he care about an eighteen-year-old like her compared to a century-long unfortunate situation?

Calyra was finally able to rest her head against the wall for a little bit of comfort. Since the bound king wasn't closer to her, she wondered how deep his cell gets, where he had just retired into after terrifying her with his unspoken words.

Why did he use the mind-link technique for her too? He could just speak with his tongue. The more Calyra thought about this mysterious king, the more perplexed she got.

A few hours passed, and she fell asleep.

...

THERION VEX

At the pavilion of pleasure, which was once a place of courtly reverence and relaxation under the previous High King Varos,

It had become a temple of unholy indulgence; the atmosphere was filled with quivering moans, wet skin hitting skin, and brutal fucking of throngs of female slaves.

The sharp crack of leather whips hitting flesh and round buttocks that resisted taking thick and huge phalluses of some of the Nine-Courts Alpha, Crimson Lantern bathed everywhere and everything in a blood-red glow.

Wet grinding sounds of toothless slaves thrusting and sucking lengthy penises, others still in chains and their lips parting and forced to swallow the massive cocks,

The air was heavy with incense and soft groans of both pleasure and pain, excruciating ones and also indistinguishable in their intensity.

At the center of it all, on a dais wrapped in velvet, with two slave girls massaging his shoulder, another collared noble daughter-just turned slave-lying curled at his feet, sucking his toes and applying oil to soothe his feet,

Therion watched with dissatisfaction in his eyes; perhaps the gorgeous woman dancing before him-whose body was painted in shimmering oil-provoked him.

No matter how Nyzara moved her waist, swirled her hips, bent her neck, and curled her fingers, Therion didn't see the passion she had whenever she danced for Varos a century ago.

And that does not entice him; it infuriates him greatly, and jealousy courses through his veins like a lethal poison, and he hates that he's even feeling jealous.

He growled and smashed the glass goblet half-filled with expensive wine at the marble floor close to Nyzara, which made her pause. Seeing the anger in Therion's face and the shattering glasses that splattered and even slashed her flesh, she fell to her knees.

"Do I bore you this much, High King?" Nyzara Vorell asked with her head bowed so low that her lips kissed the cold marble floor. Therion grunted, as if there were a shift in his anger.

Why would everything he desired be all that Varos ever had so effortlessly? Even Nyzara wouldn't dance for him with the same passion, with the same zeal she does whenever she tries to impress Varos all those years.

"Forgive me, High King. The weather's too harsh. It's messing with how I move in these pieces-barely even clothing," Nyzara Vorell said, her face blank, her voice stripped of care.

She didn't bother pretending anymore.

What did Therion still expect from her? What kind of pleasure could he possibly squeeze out of the "Forbidden Lover's Requiem" dance now? She'd danced it for him more times than she could count. Over and over. The same steps. The same look in his eyes, like he was chasing something that wasn't even there anymore.

She used to love this dance.

Back when it was for someone else. For Varos.

Varos, the bound king. Her first love. The one who never even saw her-not really. Not her feelings, not her devotion. Nothing. Just a girl in the background, dancing her heart out for a man who never reached for it.

And when he fell, she didn't fall with him.

Therion took her. Or maybe she let him. Maybe that was the only way to survive in a world where women were nothing, owned nothing-not even their own life or body-and talked about their life -they had to trade for it. Sell it. Bleed for it.

Now the dance felt like a joke. A dead thing she was forced to drag out night after night.

And she was tired.

Amidst the fuss, Alpha Sammael-the next most powerful Alpha of the Nine Courts after Padain and Gomer, in that order-sat alone, observing the rising tension. Tilting his head slightly, he finally spoke.

"Over a century now, Nyzara still gets on High King's nerve... It must be exhausting to be hunted not by your enemy, but by a woman's divided desire, one for the very king you bound".

He paused, letting the silence breathe, then his lips curled.

"Why do you think Nyzara is the reason behind my anger, Sammael?" Therion asked with a smirk,

"to rule the entire realm-absolute power. Yet you couldn't rule a woman's heart. Even if you possessed her, you never tasted what a chained king was given freely. Of course that enrages you, High King.

But truth be told, you've never struck me as the angry, wailing ninth cub -the one left starving while his eight brothers nursed from their mother's full teats."

Sammael said, and the court laughed hysterically at his subtle shade. As he continued, seeing how it got on Therion's nerve, he continued,

"The high king simmers like a heartbroken pup over a cunt that wouldn't stay."

A collective laughter once again filled the pavilion, knowing Therion could stab him to death that moment if it were another Alpha, but it was already a constant silent war at this point between Sammael and Therion.

Therion has only ever thrown slurs at him for liking males, slave boys, and twinks, and for rarely indulging in female slaves, he was always Therion's target at court, even now with no slave sucking his cock like the others, which makes him barely appear at court, but he has to, at least once in a while, to check on Therion.

"Such poetry from a man who gets fucked by twinks... taking phalluses like a proper little bitch, Sammael, did you know you are the only Alpha I know who howls louder on his back than in battle?"

Therion immediately responded, even while Sammael's shade got under his skin.

"I don't lay on my back; I do the fucking! At least I dominate men; perhaps you don't have the balls to do the same, High King?" Sammael became agitated, and Padain cut into the tension.

"You all should stop the squealing; I had hoped we'd prioritize a more pressing issue! than a boy fucking Alpha!"

"You...!" Sammael grinned at Padain, but Therion cut in.

"What matter do you speak of, Padain? I hope it isn't about the one you spoke to me about the last time. I thought I said it was under control. How dare you bring it up again!"

Therion smashed his fist on his armrest, clearly angry.

"I guess the High King should listen to what the Null Binders have to say." Padain said as he signalled as they allowed two Null Binders to enter the pavilion.

"High King..."

A guttural low growl came from a null binder heavily draped in black leather robes and their silver wolf skull mask.

"We've concluded the test. Indeed, Varos had regained some of his clear thinking instincts; he didn't harm the cursed flame girl. Command us to commence the Beastly Rut."

"The Beastly Rut should start immediately." Therion Growled.