Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 30 - Germinate

395 B.C.E. - The Fyrrin Villa, City of Rune, Capital of the Tasuri, Center of the Tasurian Peninsula, Early Summer, Month of Quintilis

From The Memory of Quintus Nullius Domus, General of House Fyrrin

Quintus rolled his shoulder, feeling the tight muscle pull under his scales. While most of his injuries had healed, this one lingered. It was, he felt, a fitting punishment for his lax inattention. After all, he had been responsible for her, and while he was incapacitated, she had been gravely injured.

Quintus swallowed down the bile that surged when he thought about his lord's bedslave. She had suffered because of his failure. Quintus should have known that those two traitors were not loyal to Falx. He should have seen it and prevented his injuries.

The tension creeping into him made his shoulder ache even more. Something dark stirred in his chest. Fury. Rage. Despair. His demon was not easily stirred, nothing like Falx, but the memory of the little female's whipping...

She had been so limp when Quintus found her. Her blood and fear had scented the air. He thought she had died, and the Change almost took him.

He feared for his life only because the Fyrrin was in Rune. After all, if Quintus died that day, who would protect her until the Warlord's return?

They both survived, and she shook the foundation of his world when she cared for his injuries, despite his failure. Quintus felt his eyes slide closed at the memory of soft fingers stroking his forehead. Though she hurt herself, Thania was the only one to tend to him. She coaxed him to rest when he needed to train, and he allowed it to be closer to her. She bathed his wounds and made sure he ate well. It was his secret shame. One of his worst memories wrapped around the best like a coiling viper striking his very heart.

"I am sorry, little one," he murmured, the apology lame and inadequate as always. Reaching forward, he stopped the touch a mere breath away from her soft skin. Despite his body being warmer than hers, he could feel the life pulsing gently under her skin. He let the phantom touch drift over her cheek, down her arm, to linger over her delicate wrist, limp in sleep.

"You will only fuck her only once a month," the warlord's grim, harsh voice cut through the night's oppressive silence like a knife.

"Understood," Quintus murmured back. The bedslave didn't stir. Marcus had given her a sleeping draught after attending the day-long spectacle in the heat and sun. She had hardly been able to eat at the cena, and her hands trembled from weakness.

When she was his wife, Quintus would care for her better. No ridiculous parties or tramping around Rune during the scorching summer months. She would be cossetted and pampered, away from the prying eyes of the Senate. No one would care what a Nullius's wife was doing; she could relax in comfort.

"And only if she desires it," Falx continued, his teeth bared in a menacing grimace. "She will not be forced."

Quintus bit his tongue, choosing not to respond. It made no difference either way. By Runion law, every wife must submit to her husband for three days during their peak breeding times, and every husband must attempt to plant his seed during that time. To refuse was to risk punishment that had become more and more extreme in the last years. While violating a wife was illegal most of the time, during those three days, the opposite was true. The plague on Rune's fertility had turned crisis into cruelty, but Quintus would never be vicious with this female, law or not.

Falx paced, agitated as they worked out the details of their plan. "I purchased the townhome down the hill. Marcus is arranging for it to be cleaned. He's already placed furniture orders. The one with the green door, you know it?"

"I do," Quintus replied calmly. The house was spacious, but not too ostentatious for his status. It needed some work, and despite Marcus's involvement, Quintus had already planned on allowing Thania to make her own choices in decorating the place. Once they wed, she could do whatever she wished to the villa. She would be the lady of the house. Quintus felt his heart flutter when he thought of the smile on her beautiful face when she saw it. Surely she would like the place. It had a pretty garden in the back. She seemed to enjoy gardening.

Of course, Quintus was no fool. Falx had chosen the townhome not for its grandeur or garden, nor even for its proximity to the Fyrrin villa; there were closer homes. No, the Warlord chose it for the convenient alleyway along that rear garden, which ran straight to a side gate on the Fyrrin property. The townhome used to be a gatehouse for the Fyrrin house, before some long-ago Fyrrin ancestor rebuilt the villa and sold off the lots on the hill.

Quintus ghosted his fingers over the bedslave's cheek and lips again. His scales rippled as he neared her soft, pouty lips. He had seen them wrapped around the Warlord's cock enough times that it took no imagination to dream of them parted for him.

"Enough, Quint," the Warlord grated. "She is not yours."

Yet, Quintus thought silently as his demon whipped his tail threateningly. "I will treat her well," he murmured to placate his friend and lord. "You can trust her with me."

"I trust you to care for her," Flax sounded strangled. "But I will be first in her heart. Always."

Quintus had no problem with that. A halfling didn't get something so precious without paying a high price. It was a miracle that a halfling would get this creature as his, even partially.

The silence of the night fell again. Both males were exhausted, but anxiety rode them hard, and sleep was elusive. The weather, blistering hot all day, became cooler until the sharp taste of a summer storm filled the air.

"What day will be mine?" Quintus asked suddenly.

"Not her breeding days," came the quiet reply. "Another day."

"And if you are wed?" Quintus asked. "You will be required to tend to your wife those days. Will you never try to breed her?" he asked cautiously.

Falx swallowed audibly. The soft clack of claws and scrape of scales gave evidence of hard-fought control. "I will not wed," came the simple reply.

"Tems said there is a petition to require marriage for all nobles," Quintus reminded the Warlord. "You may not have a choice."

"I will fuck my female on those days," came the snarled reply. "Wife or not."

Quintus nodded. "Females are often needy during that time," he pointed out sensibly. "She would be wanting and-"

"-You may fuck her with your glib, annoying tongue, if she needs relief," Falx snapped.

Quintus hid his grin. He had never tasted the little female, but she smelled divine, even when reeking of Falx's seed.

"You're an ass," the Warlord growled into the darkness, clearing guessing that his friend was amused.

"Do you blame me?" Quintus asked. "I will put her above all else. It's why you give me this honor."

The Warlord drew a deep breath, his chest rumbling as his demon made his opinion known. "I know," he finally admitted. "But, she is mine, Quint."

When dawn streaked the sky, both males stood. The bedslave slept on, unaware of the two predators lurking by her bed. The Warlord pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, smiling as she mumbled a sleepy protest. He strode from the room, trusting his general to protect his back, as always.

Before Quintus left, he reached for the bedslave once more. This time, his phantom touch hovered over her beating heart, just for a bare moment. He withdrew his hand, wickedly sharp claws curling into fists before he gave in and pressed his palm to her flesh.

"Goodbye," he whispered, before he, too, turned and left her to sleep.