Welcome to a new series. This is going to be a long story with a lot of POVs, interweaving plots, story lines, locations, and because it's me writing it, mythologies, so if you're looking for a quick story between two characters, you will want to pick something else. It will also be confusing if you start in the middle, as I'm going to write the story as if everyone started at the beginning, so I won't be revisiting a lot of content that was already covered. Not all the chapters will have as much sex as this one, not all the sex will be non-con, and some things that happen will be dark. Not every chapter will be the same length, either, as I will stop at natural pauses in the narration.
Noncon, non-con, reluctance, coercion, revenge, magic, Fae, witch, paranormal, supernatural, fantasy, anal, alpha, maledom, impregnation, sleep sex, spanking, kidnapping.
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CHAPTER ONE
FECHIN
Fechin slouched on the Raven throne, a black bird with wings extended and curved beak overhead, formed of onyx, jet, and obsidian feathers, hoping his growing boredom looked like neutrality.
Selkies. Elves. Trow. Merrow. Puca. Kobolds.
They all blurred into courtiers wearing brightly colored finery and sparkling shoes, in direct contrast to his all black attire and scuffed boots, argued over petty squabbles. Their soft hands fluttered in the air as their soft bodies stuck dramatic poses.
If they insisted on these meetings, the least they could do was make them useful. Who cared if a border was one foot farther or nearer? Or if two houses wanted to wear the same shade of green? Or whether they held the ball on one day over another?
The urge to cleave the complaining bellyachers in half with his sword made his fingers twitch on the arm of the throne. It wouldn't take long, but even his muscles might need two swings for some of them.
Why couldn't any of them see there were bigger problems -- like Inisfáil Fae tearing itself apart.
But only he felt it.
Vilkos might. The title of King would go to one of them. Fechin held the throne at the moment only because he was older. To be the true King of Fae, he required an heir. But Vilkos had left the castle two years ago, leaving Fechin as the lone target for all the politicians and hangers-on. It seemed only fair if Vilkos could become king, he should have to sit through half of these tedious proceedings.
If the network of spies he maintained was to be believed, Vilkos was on his way back to the castle.
That was another thing to worry about.
Vilkos had a chance to become king, but there was no chance he'd protect Fae.
An especially high-pitched voice echoed through the room. Fechin winced. Maybe he should move the proceedings to a smaller space in the castle. One where the voices wouldn't rebound so much. Hearing their problems three times from multiple angles did not improve his mood.
Or, perhaps a darker room, where he could be in shadows. The throne room had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in far too much sun and left him on display atop the dais.
He'd already had all the decor and furniture taken away, hoping if there was nothing to look at, and no chairs or tables to use, that would hurry things along.
No such luck.
Now they milled around, arguing about where everyone was entitled to stand. And, free to move rather than stuck in a chair, their gestures and posturing were more elaborate -- like they were actors in a play.
Fechin made a mental note to have the chairs returned -- and bolted to the floor.
Shouts and swords clashing in the corridor outside brought Fechin upright from his slouch, and shut the courtiers up as they turned to face the back of the hall. The double doors burst open, and a centaur tossed a sword aside as he stormed into the throne room.
Had he been at court before? Centaurs rarely came to the castle. Fechin would remember someone like this.
Black-skinned and bearded, the centaur made an imposing figure. The broadsword strapped to his back, and the bow slung over his shoulder, plus the scars he bore on his human chest and horse flanks, all marked the man as a warrior, not a courtier.
Massive, even for one of his kind, the centaur's ten-foot height towered over everyone else in the room. Flashing hooves scattered the Fae far more efficiently than anything Fechin had managed.
What did the centaurs have to complain about? They weren't part of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts, and tended to handle their problems themselves -- the way Fechin liked things dealt with. Maybe this was finally something important.
The centaur came to a stop in front of the Raven throne, crossed his arms, and waited.
It was a power play to see who would speak first. Fechin resisted the urge to grin and gave in to his curiosity. "What can the Seelie Court do for the centaurs?"
Tossing a look of distaste over his shoulder at the people he'd left in disarray, the centaur swished his tail. "Get out."
He didn't raise his voice, or even sound threatening, but the courtiers fled.
As the doors closed, Fechin rose and extended his hand. "I will hire you to do that every day and pay you well."
White teeth flashed from a bushy beard as the centaur clasped Fechin's arm. "No, thanks. Places like this make my skin itch."
Fechin could relate. "My guards in the hall?"
"I didn't kill them." Huge shoulders shrugged. "They mumbled something about appointments, so I made a few points I meant."
Unexpected laughter escaped him. "What should I call you?"
"Iphos. My father is Basileus of the centaurs in the forest."
Making Iphos a prince. Up close, the signs of exhaustion were clear. Dried sweat on his flanks. Tangled hair. A dullness to his eyes.
Fechin gestured to the doors. "Let's walk."
The throne room was the most magicked space in the castle. Every court had at least one listening spell in place to keep up on all the latest decisions and gossip. He didn't have them removed, and the courtiers didn't try to listen in other places. Well, not very often. He'd made it known anyone caught magicking other areas of the castle would be banished from court.
They entered the surprisingly empty hallway, aside from the unconscious guards, and Fechin led the way through double glass doors into the main garden. It was his favorite place. Acres full of the flowers and trees his mother favored -- black and red roses, snapdragons, orchids, and dahlias. Weeping willow, cedar, and rowan trees. The magic in this place, and the fairies, kept all the flowers and trees in bloom, no matter the time of year.
Everyone knew about the Morrigan's bloodthirsty side, but his mother loved as fiercely as she fought, and he'd spent many happy days with her in the garden.
The burbling fountains interspersed among the plants provided enough noise to make their conversation inaudible to outsiders. And, the magic twisted the paths, so no one could anticipate where he would be, or follow him as he walked. It was as private as they'd get. "What is so important that you'd risk a medical condition to come here today?"
Iphos tossed his head. "Satyrs."
They'd come to Inisfáil Fae from Hellas Fae with the centaurs centuries ago, along with the dryads. The centaurs and the satyrs had never agreed on anything, or played well together.
"What's the problem?"
