Read Bride Of The Blade :: Chapter 4:Part 2

After dinner, Azelrah lay on the wide bed prepared by the servants inside the royal tent. The layers of rich fabric and soft cushions did nothing to ease the coil of tension tightening in her chest. The king had not yet come. Her heart thudded loudly in the silence, the flickering lamplight casting shifting shadows across the canvas walls.

What did he expect of her tonight?

Had he made his intentions clear in the bath?

Would he force himself again on her?

The flap of the tent rustled suddenly. Zaekharan entered, his steps unhurried, the firelight catching the sharp lines of his face. His gaze found her immediately—watchful, unreadable. And then, he smiled.

Without a word, he began to remove his outer garments. His movements were brisk, purposeful. When he climbed into the bed beside her, he was bare but for his short linens, the heat of his skin seeping into the space between them. One strong arm slid around her waist.

Azelrah stiffened. Her breath hitched. Her entire body seemed to still, a statue carved of ice and dread.

Zaekharan turned toward her . He untied the knots of lace of her nightgown over her chest. Her skin tingled. He pressed his lips against hers—soft at first, then deeper, more certain, as though coaxing a flame. Her body almost responded. Almost.

But her mind had already decided.

She lay still. Motionless. Silent.

He pulled back, brows drawing together, surprise flickering into irritation. Perhaps he had sensed something in the bath—something that had given him hope.

He kissed her again, this time at her neck, the exposed edge of her collarbone. His hands brushed her sides, searching for softness, for warmth. But Azelrah did not yield. Not a sigh. Not a stir.

Only stillness.

He stopped. His breath heavy now, his voice low and angry.

“Do you refuse me, my queen?”

Her voice came stiff and hollow. “Do as you wish.”

His jaw clenched. “As you lie there like a corpse? Do you mock me?”

He pushed himself away from her in frustration, rising from the bed and dressing in a series of quick, sharp motions.

Azelrah sat up slowly, the blanket clutched to her chest. Her pulse raced now—not from his touch, but from the fear of what might follow.

He stormed to the tent’s entrance and barked: “Send word to Lady Kaemyra. Tell her I will visit her tonight.”

A servant entered moments later with a bow. “At once, sire.”

Zaekharan did not look back at Azelrah. The flap of the tent swung shut behind him, leaving her in silence—shivering not from cold, but from everything that had just passed… and everything still to come.

Azelrah sat frozen for a long moment, her body wrapped tight in the sheets, her face unreadable. She heard the muffled noises of his departure, and then nothing.

The emptiness pressed in.

She swallowed, trying to push back the sudden sting in her throat. But her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the bell by the bedside.

Moments later, two of her maidservants entered, heads bowed.

She spoke without looking at them.

“Who is Lady Kaemyra?”

The maids glanced at each other.

One answered cautiously, “She is the royal danseuse, my lady. She traveled with the king’s retinue from Zaekharan. She performed during the wedding feast, my lady… but you may not have noticed.”

“She is a favorite, then?” Azelrah asked, her voice flat.

“Yes, my lady. She is… well-regarded.”

A pause. Then, very quietly:

“Is she ..beautiful?”

The same maid hesitated again, then gave a respectful nod.

“Yes, my lady. She is considered… quite so.”

Azelrah nodded slowly. She did not ask anything more.

The maids lingered, unsure whether to stay.

“Leave me,” Azelrah said. “Extinguish the lamps.”

They obeyed in silence.

Darkness folded around her. Alone once more, Azelrah lay back down on the bed. The silence was heavier now.

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Lady Kaemyra hurriedly slipped the letter she was reading into the cleft of her generous cleavage as a servant girl’s voice sounded just outside the tent.

“Lady Kaemyra, the King will visit shortly. He asked that you be informed.”

Kaemyra nodded with a knowing smile. As the maid’s footsteps retreated, she retrieved the letter, tore it into thin slivers, and scattered them into the ash bucket near her writing table.

She was dressed in a clinging satin nightgown that barely reached her thighs, its glossy fabric catching the lamplight. Over it she wore a thin, loose satin robe—more decorative than modest.

Turning toward the mirror, she applied a dab of pink herbal gloss to her lips and lined her dark eyes with kohl. Her fingers adjusted the gown slightly, lifting the swell of her breasts higher—barely restrained by the low neckline and narrow floral straps. Her shoulders and back gleamed under the sheer fabric of the robe. It was a calculated balance—enough concealment to spark curiosity, enough exposure to inflame. She had mastered the art of allure.

Rough footsteps approached. The flap of the tent parted, and King Zaekharan stepped in.

Zaekharan’s mood was unmistakable—stormy, dangerous. He sank into the low cushioned chair within her tent, his jaw clenched, his gaze brooding.

Kaemyra walked toward him with a goblet of Zhanouri wine and an exaggerated sway in her hips, her steps languid, deliberate . He watched her approach, then before she could speak, he seized her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. The wine sloshed, some of it spilling onto her chest.

He snatched the goblet from her hand and downed it in a single swallow.

“My King is upset?” she ventured, voice lilting, teasing.

“Just be quiet,” Zaekharan growled. His hand gripped her chin and he crushed his mouth against hers in a hard, almost punishing kiss. When he released her, Kaemyra gasped, breathless.

With a grunt, he shoved aside the robe, as if the fabric offended him. His rough hands pushed down the neckline of her gown, seizing her breasts with a firm, almost bruising grip.

Kaemyra moaned, more from the sharpness of the pressure than from pleasure, but she knew better than to protest. If anything, her involuntary gasp seemed to arouse him further.

She could feel his thick, pulsing arousal pressing against her through his trousers, wedged tightly between the curve of her buttocks. With one swift motion, he turned her in his lap and yanked the gown away, baring her completely.

His mouth descended—wild kisses trailed across her throat, collarbone, and chest. He took one breast in his mouth, then the other, alternating between suckling and biting, teasing and devouring. Kaemyra writhed in his lap, hands gripping his shoulders.

She reached to unbutton his shirt, revealing the broad, muscled expanse of his chest. Her lips found his skin, but Zaekharan was impatient. He lifted her with ease, carried her to the bed, and tossed her onto the silken covers.

As he stood before her, undoing his trousers, Kaemyra’s eyes lowered—and widened. His arousal sprang free, hard and heavy. She leaned forward slowly to take him , but he was in no mood for finesse. He grabbed her hair and thrust deep in her mouth, setting a relentless rhythm that left her gasping.

Moments later, he pushed her back, spread her legs, and entered her with a deep, forceful thrust. Kaemyra cried out, her whole body shuddering from the sudden, intense invasion, pleasure igniting her senses wildly.

There was something untamed in him tonight. A fury. Or perhaps a fire that someone else had sparked.

He took her with brutal passion—his hips moving like a man possessed. She arched under him, clutching at his back, moaning through gritted teeth. When at last he spent his seed inside her with a guttural cry, she trembled from the force of her climax.

Zaekharan stood a few moments later, sweat glistening on his skin. He pulled on his clothes, grabbed the wine jug, and left without a word.

Kaemyra lay back, panting, a dazed smile on her lips. It had been a wild ride—and she had enjoyed every moment of it.

She whispered a silent thank you to the queen.

She had lain with many men, and with Zaekharan often enough to read him well. This had been no ordinary lust. The king had come to her in heat—ignited by another. By the queen, most likely. That plain-looking girl had somehow ignited the king's fire..and then refused him..rousing the beast in him.

Kaemyra’s brows lifted at the thought. That was bold. Dangerous… and useful.

For though her profession brought her comfort, it was whispered secrets that brought her true joy. She dealt in desire, but she also dealt in information—collecting it, feeding it, trading it.

And tonight, she had learned something valuable indeed.

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That's the end of Chapter 4 Part 2 Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Likes & comments are the only way new writers like me can gauge the response of readers on online reading platforms.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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