Chapter 259: Cultural Sensitivity Training
Tonight’s dominoes had produced a murdered prince, a corpse in a closet, and a very public wall-fucking. These next two looked at all that, said ’hold my beer,’ and delivered profanity and nudity, in that order.
Nicholas Shadowfell captained an airtight ship. The sweep of Greyhall Crossing was meticulous as hell, floor by floor, room by room with no exceptions.
But every old castle hides corridors that official papers swear don’t exist. Connective tunnels between laundry chutes, for example. Used when the keep was constructed for hauling materials between floors and far too small for any reasonable adult to crawl through.
Obviously, his sweep included the actual laundry chutes themselves. A visual confirmation of empty occurred for every single one.
The issue?
Staring directly down one gave zero visibility to the connective tunnels. Tunnels that didn’t exist because they were not in the blueprints and could not be seen unless you laundry-chuted yourself and passed one on the way down.
✦✦✦
DOMINO 54: INDIGENOUS BREEDING PRACTICES, ACTUALLY
GREYHALL CROSSING - 2:00 AM
Three assholes were currently packed shoulder-to-crotch inside a laundry chute like a sardine can orgy. Tharos Stonehowl was one of those assholes and had left his dignity behind somewhere around hour three. The other two were Dark Fae who would not shut the fuck up.
"My left wing’s numb. Pull your goddamn elbow out of it before it dies for real."
"Your left wing is using my cheekbones as a fucking landing pad. Get it the hell off me."
"I would, but the Alpha wolf has sat down on it and declared eminent domain."
"Both of you shut the fuck up," Tharos hissed.
"Why are we still hiding?" the larger Dark Fae snapped.
"Because some serious shit went down. They locked the whole building."
"Is this about us?"
"No. They have zero clue we’re here. This is something else entirely. An Alpha got iced most likely."
The smaller one perked up. "What is the plan, Alpha?"
"We sit here like assholes until the sweep is done. Then we go to her chambers."
"Her chambers. The one who called you dumb?"
"She didn’t call me dumb, you absolute cock. But yes, her chambers."
"You wolves have potty mouths," the smaller one observed.
"I HAVE A DIRTY MOUTH? Have you heard the shit you winged fucks say about—"
Tharos killed the sentence mid-breath. He’d learned that a particular word was a loaded gun. Too late. Trigger already pulled.
"—VESSEL? That’s what you were going to say, Alpha? The one who will spread her legs for us. She shall bear my seed."
"I called DIBS FIRST—"
"—VESSEL ON HER KNEES, VESSEL ON HER BACK—"
"RIPE LITTLE CUNT, READY AND WARM—"
"Shut the fuck up," Tharos commanded using his Alpha voice.
Neither Dark Fae shut up for ten minutes.
Ten minutes. Ten full fucking minutes of breeding hymns. At one point they even harmonized.
Tharos had a fair share of poor decisions under his belt, but teaming up with Dark Fae was rapidly becoming the one that might actually kill him because the fuckers couldn’t shut up when they were supposed to be hiding.
When the singing stopped, the stupid questions started back up. Questions that Tharos had already answered but they kept asking because their pea-sized brains couldn’t grasp that the world did not revolve around their fucking vessel.
"Whatever this lockdown is about, it isn’t about her, you insufferable shits," he snapped for the one hundredth time. "These Alphas don’t give a fuck about some woman. Somebody important is dead. That’s what this is."
The larger Dark Fae closed its eyes and exhaled through its nose with the reverence of a sommelier. "When we get to her chambers I call first scent. Non-negotiable."
"I’m going to smell her hair first," the smaller one said dreamily. "Then her neck. Then the space behind her ears. Then lower."
"Stop narrating your planned assault route."
"It’s not assault. It’s courtship in our culture."
"Your culture," Stonehowl repeated.
"Yes. Your repeated attempts to silence our mating calls is, frankly, discriminatory."
"Our breeding hymns are sacred," the smaller one seconded. "They’ve been passed down for millennia. ’Ripe Little Cunt’ was composed by an elder poet in the Fourth Age. Show some reverence."
Tharos dragged a hand down his face. "I’m in a wall with two demons who just cited cultural discrimination and referenced a Fourth Age cum poet. This is rock bottom."
"We have not once criticized your mating customs. The howling. The pissing. The biting. We ask only the same courtesy."
"Pissing? What the hell is wrong with you fucks?" Stonehowl rubbed his temples. "Never mind. Just shut the hell up."
"Territory marking," the larger one corrected. "We’ve seen it. You urinate around perimeters. We find it charming, actually. Very primal."
"That is the dumbest shit you’ve said all day. Wolves don’t territory mark," Stonehowl snapped.
"You urinated during the journey from your ancestral lands to this venue."
"Who the fuck says urinated? I had to take a piss, jackass."
"Multiple? Four urinations in five hours. That is either territory marking or you have a weak stream, Alpha."
It was at this point that Tharos tuned them out, ignoring them the way people ignore terms and conditions or furniture assembly instructions. It was the only strategy left with these dickweasels. He had tried threats, commands, and his Alpha voice. The threats bounced off. The commands were ignored. The Alpha voice triggered a ten-minute concert. Silence was all he had left and even that was losing.
He was trapped in this position thanks to her showing up here. It was supposed to be her father. Now he had to jump through extra flaming hoops to get the dad because these assholes specifically wanted the loud-mouthed cunt.
Multiple kings had plans for Guinevere Lunaris.
Tharos had a chute. Nicholas had a lockdown. Renwick had a run. Maddox had a dream. But only one king actually knew where she was and he was also currently unconscious.
Wolf venom hit Landon Solveil like a bitch.