Warlord's Enigma MM BDSM Sci-Fi Erotica Page 6

  Janus clutched the bed sheets. “It feels so good.”

  “Hush you sultry wretch.”

  He continued filling him until his pelvis came against his ass cheeks. Janus lowered his chest to the mattress and arched his spine. His soft lips parted.

  “Ohh, it’s incredible.”

  Kinthor gave a loud grunt. “You’re unbelievable.”

  He drew out his length until just the cap penetrated him, then soothed back in. Janus couldn’t restrain his moans. His ring pulsated and prostate throbbed. A tremble began in his chest, then infected his thighs and ass cheeks. His cock felt tight.

  “Oh…oh yes.”

  Kinthor made measured strokes into him. “Urgh. You’re going to make me ‘excrete’.”

  “It just feels…ngh.” He bucked against him.

  “That’s it!” He clasped his hips and humped him.

  Janus squirmed his arms over the bed. His moans were reaching a crescendo. The heat in his cock made central vein of his shaft purr. He pushed into strokes.

  “Yes!”

  Kinthor snarled. He lifted Janus’ chest with one hand, then jacked his organ furiously with the other. Janus shouted his moans. His cock spasmed with the third yank. He felt hot seed filling him while Kinthor continued thrusting. His sperm shot across the sheets, leaving three thick wet streaks. Kinthor released him and collapsed over his back. His hips still moved, with his cock buried to the hilt. Janus trembled beneath him. He could hear Kinthor’s guttural breaths beside his ear.

  Then both their ecstatic noises ended. Janus luxuriated in the heat of Kinthor’s body against his. His flesh was alive with endorphins, causing bliss everywhere they connected. He gave a contented sigh.

  Kinthor pulled himself off him. He was turned to face him, then the larger man’s mouth sealed against his. Janus eyes widened. Kinthor’s tongue passed his lips and touched against his own. As with the blowjob, he expected unpleasantness, but then relaxed. He brought his arms around Kinthor’s large shoulders and mingled with his tongue.

  The soiled sheet was tossed on the floor. Kinthor drew back the one beneath it and huddled Janus in his arms. With the strong man’s warmth once again encompassing him, Janus closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

  9

  Kinthor woke with Janus’ sleeping form in his arms. He was unsure of how much time had passed, but knew it wasn't morning.

  He admired his beautiful slave, huddled in his embrace. How sweet the lovely prince has turned out for him. His sensitive body made up for the brattiness. The luscious creature could be molded just as he needed him to be. Kinthor smiled and caressed his soft cheek.

  Janus blinked awake. He met his eyes with no signs of shame or regret in his expression.

  “What is going on with your assistant in my court?”

  Kinthor’s brow twitched as he deciphered the words. Oh, right.

  Kinthor let out a long breath. “All right. You’ve pleased me too much to hold anything back from you.”

  Janus smiled in a way that made him melt inside. “I did?”

  “Yes. You’re a delight.”

  Janus lowered his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “My highest minister is still working on the matter. All I have is a preliminary report.”

  “So? What did he say?”

  Kinthor examined his face again. “Janus…” He drew another sigh before continuing. “Tell me about the clams.”

  “What clams?”

  The prince’s face held earnest confusion. He’d spoken immediately, and without any sign of distress. Kinthor stayed fixed on him.

  “The clams that killed your father.”

  He shook his head. “Clams? What are you talking about? He was poisoned with vitro leaf. A foreign poison that didn't have any antidote.”

  Kinthor continued to examine him. “Are the signs of vitro leaf poisoning much like the signs of an allergic reaction? Did he grow swollen?”

  Janus’ tone became sharp. “No. His lips turned blue and his skin ashen.” He swallowed burgeoning grief. “His eyes were so bloodshot they were nearly red.”

  Kinthor looked away from his gaze. “Hmm. Your brother, who also claims his name is Janus, said you accidentally fed your father clams and he died from his allergy to them.”

  Janus spoke over him. “Oh my gods…”

  “He says you lost your mind when you realized you’d killed him, and that’s why he sent you here.”

  “Not a word of that is true! He’s my younger brother, Haine. He’s impersonating me. My father didn’t have clams; there were no clams. Poison killed him. He took a sip of his drink and began to choke. We thought he’d had it go down the wrong pipe, but as he gagged he said, ‘poison!’ and we called for the doctor. There was a paste of vitro leaf on the bottom of his glass. He died within hours.”

  A stitch formed between his brows. “Hmm.”

  “Someone murdered my father. It was no accident. Haine and I hunted for the killer together. We questioned the entire staff, checked our vendors, searched every inch of the castle for clues.

  “We worked for months trying to find his murderer. The night before I was kidnapped I’d finally determined the poisonous paste was from vitro leaf. Then, the next day I heard trumpets blaring for a royal inauguration. I saw Haine from my window, kneeling to take my crown! My chamber was locked from the outside. I screamed and banged at the door. Men I didn’t know burst in and stuck a gun to my neck. They forced me to drink a sleeping potion and put me in a black bag. I awoke on your slave ship.”

  Kinthor absorbed every word, seeking traces of deception. Rodin was better at discerning such things. He tried to piece together the broken bits from both opposing stories in his mind.

  “Haine was helping you find your father’s killer. You presume it wasn’t him?”

  Janus shook his head with burgeoning tears. “I know he didn’t do it.”

  “But had he always desired the throne?”

  “Haine never wanted the burden of ruling. Things were easy for him as the younger prince. I had to master so many more subjects than him. My days of study lasted hours longer than his. He saw how much harder I had to work and wanted nothing to do with the crown.”

  Kinthor kept a steady gaze on him. “Janus—he stole your throne. He must have wanted it more than you realized.”

  Janus sighed. “I still don’t think he wants it.”

  Kinthor let out a grunt of revulsion. He rolled over to exit the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  He spoke with his back to him. “I need to send a message to Rodin repeating what you’ve just told me.” He stood in place. “This is not good, Janus. Either you or your brother are lying to us. That means one of you will have to answer for it.”

  “I’m not lying.” Janus began to cry. “Whatever reason he had for stealing my throne he had to get me out of the way to do it. He’s the younger prince. If he were the eldest he wouldn’t have needed me gone. The throne would have been his birthright.”

  He took a step toward his console.

  “Kinthor—”

  He halted. “Master.”

  “Master then. You believe me, don’t you?”

  He glanced back. “I do.” His chest rose and fell with a breath. “And Rodin believes your brother.” He continued to his terminal. “One of you is lying.”

  10

  My Janus says his father took a sip of a drink at dinner and started choking. He cried out, ‘Poison!’ and fell ill. He said a paste was found at the bottom of the glass made from a poisonous ‘vitro’ leaf.

  Rodin, he had no emotion when I mentioned the clams. Even when I pressed him on it. He showed me nothing but confusion. He claims men drugged him and put him in a black bag. This matches what he told Arda.

  If he’s lying he’s a psychopath, or he hated his father. I know the latter isn’t true. Shalen spoke proudly about both his sons to me. He said Janus was his favorite, but he adored Haine as well. Haine was the favorite of his mo
ther.

  Your Janus is lying about the clams, or else I’m a gullible fool. Find out the truth no matter what it takes.

  Rodin turned from his portable console and gave an elongated groan. This was Kinthor’s reward for trusting a conquered planet. He’d be certain they never make such a mistake again.

  He pulled a tasseled rope hanging from the ceiling next to his bed. A distant bell sounded. In moments there was a tap at the door. He opened it to see a boy no older than ten wearing the starched uniform of a servant.

  Rodin hesitated before him. He hadn’t expected a child. “Do you know Doctor Neese?”

  The child nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Is he in the castle?”

  “Yes, sir. In his study or the clinic, or maybe his bedroom.”

  He scoffed at the annoyingly wide selection. “Take me to his clinic.”

  “Yes, sir.” He headed off.

  The trek brought them through a bustling main hall where servants were cleaning things or carting things over the rock floor. Each worker paused to look at him, some even huddling to whisper. They continued to an eave with a carpeted corridor.

  The boy opened the door to the clinic. He beheld a small room with a narrow bed. Shelves and drawers lined every wall. He saw hundreds of glass bottles and dozens of metal boxes of powders. A tiered table on wheels held a vast array of frightening tools.

  “Where’s his study?”

  He pointed to an open room at the end of the corridor.

  Rodin peeked in. A white-haired man in an ornate tunic with puffed shoulders sat at a large desk piled with books and papers.

  “Ahem.”

  The doctor turned his swivel chair. His eyes grew wide, and the color drained from his face. Rodin didn’t assume much from the reaction. To these people he might have looked like a demon.

  “Oh. You…you’re the Xen-Kroth minister.”

  Rodin entered and sat at a chair beside the desk. He took out his tablet. “Doctor Neese?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw to King Shalen on the day he died?”

  “I…yes.”

  “I have some questions for you.”

  “We should…”

  Rodin eyed him. “Should what?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He drew his thin lips into his mouth to wet them. “Go ahead.”

  “The glass of fluid that the king choked on had residue on the bottom. Describe it.”

  The man stared at him with his mouth open. Rodin lowered his tablet.

  “I think…let me have Mechel here.”

  “Why?”

  “He wasn’t poisoned from a drink. It was clams.”

  “There was a drink too, correct?”

  The man froze.

  “Answer me!”

  The doctor turned away to rub his brow. “I…I don’t…I don’t know anything about a drink.”

  “Why would King Janus mention a suspicious drink to me if there was none?”

  “Well I, I don’t really know. It must be something discovered later. I know nothing about it.”

  Rodin made a note on his tablet, while inwardly fuming over his failed trick. “How did King Shalen die?”

  “He ate a soup with clams in it and had an allergic reaction.”

  “Describe the reaction.”

  “He swelled about the face and the neck.”

  “How long did it take for him to die?”

  “He died that evening. Some hours later.”

  “A severe allergic reaction closes the throat causing death in minutes. How is it that he survived for hours?”

  “I gave a remedy that slowed his symptoms.”

  Rodin glared at him. “What remedy is this?”

  “Geffalt root.”

  “How is it administered?”

  “Orally.”

  He tapped on his tablet. “Do you have any vitro leaf?”

  “I’m not familiar with that fauna.”

  Rodin’s eyes narrowed. “So if I were to confiscate the items in your clinic I wouldn’t find any vitro leaf?”

  The doctor gaped at him. “Don’t do that. You can take an inventory here. All my bottles are labeled. If you tell me where this leaf is from I can try to find you some.”

  “I’ll take a sample of that geffalt root instead. Fetch it for me.”

  Neese turned his seat and stood. He took two steps towards the door and then halted.

  “Oh, I’m afraid I have none left. That’s right. I’d forgotten.”

  Rodin sprang up. “Doctor Neese, do you realize that if the royal court is perpetuating a lie to our empire that every person assisting in the lie will be executed?”

  He turned around with a face washed in terror.

  “Do you think you can fool the Xen-Kroth?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not.” The man swallowed and looked away from him. “Why are you investigating this? The matter was settled. Lord Kinthor gave us autonomy over our affairs.”

  Rodin stepped close enough to menace him. “I’ll give you one chance to redeem yourself. Answer this question truthfully—and keep in mind, I already know the truth. Who sits on the throne? Janus or Haine?”

  “It’s Janus of course.” He answered without a pause and then went back to his desk. “I can prove that to you easily.” He pulled out a binder with Janus’ name on it and flipped through the pages until he came to a diagram of teeth. “This is King Janus’ dental record. He has two golden fillings.” He pointed to molars on the bottom of the diagram that had been colored in. “I drilled them and filled them myself. Prince Haine has fillings in every one of his molars.” He found another binder with ‘Haine’ written on it. For a minute he flipped through all the pages. “Well, I don’t know where his chart is…but anyway, Haine’s mouth is full of gold. He’s fond of sweets. Janus was kept on a stricter diet as the prince royal.”

  Rodin stood beside him for several moments of awkward silence. Then he turned on his heel and left.

  The servant boy waited in the corridor for him.

  “Has King Janus moved into his father’s chambers?”

  The child blinked a moment. “No, sir. He’s still in south wing, same as before.”

  The earnest answer made him realize having a child attend him was a benefit. The boy was too eager to please to guard his words.

  “Take me to King Shalen’s bedroom.”

  He led Rodin to one of the sweeping staircases and climbed. After an annoyingly long trek down endless corridors he brought him to a great door decorated with golden rivets.

  It was locked.

  Rodin took out the small laser he kept in his underrobe and blasted off the lock. The boy covered his agape mouth with both hands.

  “Wait here.”

  He nodded with his eyes still wide.

  The room had a musky odor that told him it hadn’t been disturbed for some time. The closet was filled with ‘kingly’ garments. Drawers and cupboards still contained his personal effects. He wondered if anyone had been in since the king’s death.

  Then he went to the desk. It had been emptied. One drawer was pulled off its tracks and lie on its side on the floor—as though the perpetrator cleaned it out in haste. A giant writing pad was fastened to the top of the desk with tacks. Half the sheets had been torn out, leaving only a few blank pages. The pad was perforated, but the person had ripped out pages askew. A small bit of writing was on the triangular scrap that remained.

  Our conquerors are our liberators.

  Rodin copied the note into his tablet. He presumed it was in reference to the tech they’d gifted to the world. Archaic methods were replaced with efficient technology.

  They had a schedule to provide Sensicry more tools, but proceeded slowly, starting with agricultural equipment. Shalen was wise enough to realize the Xen-Kroth caused them more benefit than harm.

  On the left side of the room was a fireplace. As Rodin expected, it was filled with the ash of notebooks and sheets. Most of the pile had c
rumpled. He tried to pull a notebook from the mess only to have it disintegrate in his hand.

  Rodin made an angry grunt through his nostrils. Whoever had destroyed this evidence would die.

  He returned to the boy in the corridor.

  “Take me to the queen’s room.”

  Instead of darting off as usual the child peered up at him.

  “Duchess Marta’s in there now, sir.”

  “The queen doesn’t have a bedroom in the castle?”

  “Well she’s gone back home, sir.”

  “This is her home.”

  “I mean her home from before, sir. Her island country. That’s where she’s living now.”

  “She moved out permanently?”

  “So far as I know, sir.”

  Rodin felt his chin in consideration.

  “Take me to the kitchen.”

  11

  By evening Rodin’s feet were sore. He dismissed the servant boy and headed back to his chamber alone.

  The former chef Darian could not be found and the kitchen staff repeated the clam story to him without deviation from the king’s version. Their use of the same phrases showed him they’d been counseled. He shouldn’t have wasted his time.

  He dragged himself into his room while unbuttoning his collar.

  “Something you said struck me today.”

  Rodin lifted his eyes. King Janus sat on his bed. Rodin glared while closing the door behind him. He wore a flouncy white open shirt and tight black pants.

  “You were Kinthor’s comfort slave. Why did you leave that post?”

  “Because I became his high minister.”

  Janus’ face flushed. “Did you no longer wish to serve him that way? Was it unpleasant—or were you sad to end those duties?”

  Rodin threw off his outer robe. “Your audacity is limitless.”

  “But you understand my curiosity, don’t you?” He wet his lips. “Someone as powerful and authoritarian as you being a sexual slave. It’s an intoxicating fantasy.”