Kings of underland a bri.., p.26
Kings of Underland: A Bride for Beasts, page 26
There are hundreds of them, at the very least. Maybe thousands. No, no, easily thousands.
My breath catches as I take it all in. I knew that the Kingdom of Hearts was the only one of the four kingdoms to offer anything even close to resembling peace, but …
These people don’t just look complacent, they look happy.
I shift a glance toward Brennin, his mouth in a neutral line, his eyes shining. When he notices me looking, he lifts his chin, cloak blowing in the wind, but says nothing. He’s a good king, I have to admit. Mostly. I mean, he’s better than any of the other kings that’ve ruled Underland recently.
I turn back to the shore, watching the flurry of activity as the boat is docked, the gangplank lowered. I’m still annoyed with Rab for teasing me, but my desire is briefly pushed to the wayside at the idea of disembarking and exploring a new area.
A massive crowd is gathered just up a slight incline, parted to allow our group to pass. I’m not sure what to do, so I wave and smile, letting Dee hook his arm through my left while Rab holds onto my right.
“You’ll love Eighth Square,” Dee assures me, a bright smile on his face. We should probably talk about whatever that was with the kiss underwater and whatnot, but I suppose it can wait until later. You seem to be saying that a lot lately, Allison. If these boys wriggle out of every hard conversation, it’s your job to pin them down.
My eyes swing over to Rab, but he’s not looking at me. He’s adjusting his crown and looking so stupidly smug that I promise myself I’ll find and assault him first.
We head straight for the inn where we’ll be staying tonight. If it’s a coincidence that it happens to be the king piece that dominates the town center, nobody remarks on it.
“A wife’s suite,” I mutter when we reach the top of the stairs where our room’s located. A heavy iron key unlocks the first door, and we’re met with a long hallway, a total of eleven doors leading off from the space. I make the assumption that the one on the end is mine and head in that direction.
“You’d prefer a marriage suite?” Dee asks, jogging to stick right beside me. I give him a look because I have no idea what the difference between a wife’s suite and a marriage suite is. “One larger room, huge bed, a sitting area.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Not as common as a wife’s suite, but they can be found in most nice inns.”
“Would that bother you, sharing a bed with the others every night?” I whisper, because the hallway’s just narrow enough that I’m in front, Dee’s just behind me, and his wings have effectively blocked us off from the rest of my husbands.
“Not really.” He cocks his head at me as I pause at the last door and notice that there’s a clock embedded in the wood beside the doorknob. Um. Dee grins and scoots up beside me, glancing over his shoulder at Rab. He has to drop one of his wings to the floor just to see the man’s face.
“What time is it?” he asks, and Rab checks the pocket watch tucked into his waistcoat. Not the one that was freshly buttered, but a different one. He seems to own dozens of the damn things.
“Teatime,” he replies, and Dee nods, spinning the hands on the clock until I hear the distinct sound of a lock sliding open.
“This door doesn’t need to be unlocked, just unclocked,” he explains, as if that makes any sense at all. Dee opens it and gestures with his hand for me to enter, welcoming me into a room of white and red and gold.
It’s a room made for royalty, that’s for damn sure. The bed—while not as big as the one back at Castle Heart—is easily large enough for a half-dozen people. There’s a fireplace crackling merrily on the wall opposite me, and a sitting area to my left. On either side of the bed, two large glass doors open onto a balcony of some sort.
That’s where I start, heading out the door and finding myself faced with a view of the sea, the Short Tale dominating the harbor. It’s the largest ship by far, dwarfing the myriad fishing boats. They’re all in red or white, just like the rest of the town. Rather than names painted on the sides, they have symbols. A skull and a heart. Two pawns and an anchor.
“Why do they have symbols instead of names?” I ask as Dee joins me, his eyes taking in the crowd gathered below our room, shouting and waving flags, before he looks back up at the harbor.
“Those are their names.” He points to the first one. “The Skull Heart.” His finger swings to the next. “The Two Pawn Anchor.” He tucks his hands into his trouser pockets. “This area was quite poor and run-down before Brennin took the throne; most of the people here couldn’t read, so they used symbols instead of names.” He removes one of his hands from his pocket and gestures in the direction of a pub. “Want to take a guess as to the meaning of that one?”
I squint at the sign and notice a large rooster and two white balls painted beside it.
My eye twitches.
“The Cock and Balls?” I ask, and Dee stares at me like I’m a lunatic, throwing his head back and howling with laughter.
“Oh, silly Allison-my-perfect-Alice, you have quite the dirty mind.” He lifts up a single finger, eyes darting back in the direction of the pub before landing on my face. “That’s the Rooster and Eggs. Don’t be daft.” He flicks me in the nose, and I shove him hard in the shoulder.
“We should get something to eat,” Tee remarks as he joins us, still looking pale, but markedly better than he was earlier. “I might not be hungry if I’d had the chance to actually finish my breakfast this morning.” He tightens his mouth, but Brennin isn’t in the room so the slight falls by the wayside. Tee moves onto the balcony with us, and Rab saunters out after, followed by Lar and North.
The other men must be selecting their own rooms.
I’m not sure that I like that, this rotation thing that we have going on. I’d rather we just spent time together as a family. Give it time, Allison. You’ve only been married for five days. This sort of thing takes patience.
“I could use something to eat as well.” Lar leans on the railing, letting his wings droop behind him. I step up close, running my palms over their glossy surfaces, and he gives a pleased shudder in response.
“I, too, could feast,” the Duke declares, giving me a little snarl before he straightens out his white ruffled shirt and pretends to be civilized. I roll my eyes as he steps up to the railing, offering a magnanimous wave to the people, as if he fancies himself a celebrity.
“Oh, Sunshine, my Sunshine,” Lar whispers, lifting up one wing and pulling me close to his side. “Tonight, sit with me and smoke the hookah. See if you can help me past this block I’m suffering.”
He reaches into his jacket and removes a pipe, offering it up to me. I don’t smoke, but here in Underland, it’s not like it is back home. It’s not harsh chemicals and lung cancer, it’s magic and mystery and dancing while floating.
I accept the pipe, taking two puffs before handing it back to Lar. He does the same before extending it to Rab, and then he’s grabbing me around the waist. He hauls himself up and onto the railing with his free hand, and then we’re stepping through the air like we’re descending stairs.
We land on the ground beside the crowd, and I do my best to smile and wave. Nobody gets too close—Brennin’s guards are everywhere—but I’m on high alert anyway, just in case. Lar leads me to the … Rooster and Eggs, my ass.
He opens the door, ushering me inside. It’s a little cold outside, and I swear, it looks like another free magic storm is brewing in the gray clouds above the harbor. It’s nice and warm in here though. Smells like freshly baked bread, eggs, and … fried chicken?
I notice a group at a nearby table digging into a literal metal bucket full of fried food.
Everyone turns to stare at us as we enter, but the presence of the royal guards keeps them in their seats. Lar takes us to a table in the corner, the twins, North, and Rab close behind. I don’t see any of the other men, but I assume someone must’ve told them before they left the inn?
“Do you know what our sweet wife thought the name of this pub was?” Dee asks Tee, and the two brothers look at one another before Dee leans in, cupping his hand around his mouth and giving me a conspiratorial look out of the corner of his eye. “The Cock and Balls.”
Tee’s lips twitch into a smile as he takes a seat, slipping his leather jacket off and setting it aside.
“Really, Allison,” he chastises, but I can tell he’s just teasing.
“Listen, the first time I met you, both you and Dee were naked and wearing signs around your necks that said EAT ME and DRINK ME, and you meant it quite literally.” I sit up straight and raise my chin. “You even tried to coerce me into sucking your cock because it would make me as small as a mouse.”
Mm. Yes. The first time I’d met Tee, he’d been cursed, his wings bound into a tattoo on his back, his cum spelled so that a single swallow of it could shrink a person down to mouse-size. Contrariwise, Dee’s cum was spelled to make a person as big as a house. It was an admittedly useful side effect of their curse although blow jobs would’ve been substantially less fun in the long run.
“I did not encourage you to suck my cock,” Tee mutters as he throws a dirty look in Rab’s direction. “If you’ll recall, it was the White Rabbit who smashed all the regular DRINK ME bottles, and made such a thing necessary in the first place.” Tee sits up as Dee flags over a waiter and places an order for fried jubjub bird, egg sandwiches, and iced tea.
Okay. So definitely not chicken then.
“I’m just sorry I wasn’t there to witness it all,” Lar adds, slipping off his own jacket. He’s not actually shirtless today which is a huge surprise. Instead, he’s wearing a white button-up vest with nothing underneath it. His pierced nipples are covered, but I can make out a vague wrinkle in the fabric that shows where they are anyway.
He folds his hands together and rests his chin on them, sky blue eyes sparkling.
Meanwhile, the Duke is laying out a cloth napkin on the seat with a scowl and looking around the place like it’s below his distinguished caliber. Our eyes meet, and he offers up a heat drenched smile that completely destroys any pretense of civilization. He might pretend not to like a greasy spoon such as this, but he did eat a kraken last night.
“I’m assuming you lot didn’t inform the others that we were headed down to eat?” I ask North, but it’s Tee who answers.
“They can text us if they want to know,” Tee adds mulishly, but also maybe like he feels guilty for not saying anything. “We’re only across the street.” He slides his phone from his pocket anyway and taps out a quick text.
I do the same, looking at the phone screen and its three miserable apps: phone calls, texts, and a bomb. I’ll give you three guesses as to what that one does: if it isn’t explode like a half-dozen sticks of dynamite, you’re entirely off-course.
There’s no app store as far as I can see, no search engines. If I never have to see another picture of someone else’s food on Instagram ever again, I’ll live. I’m not going to miss social media all that much to be honest with you, but I guess I can see why Edy wanted to go back. Her dream job is to be an influencer, and that’s not really an option down here. There is, however, a text from my mom. It’s not the first I’ve gotten, but I’ve been so busy that I’ve been sending one-word responses back.
How are things, honey? If you get a chance, I’d love it if you called. I want to hear your voice.
I smile at that, tapping out a response to let her know that I’ll call her from the room tonight, and then tuck the phone away again.
The server drops our food off, placing several metal buckets full of fried jubjub bird in the center of the table, and adding a towering plate of egg sandwiches. I wasn’t exactly sure what that would entail, but it appears to be some sort of sweet bread like challah with fried eggs for filling.
My iced tea is purple with a sprinkling of silver dust around the rim of the glass. It’s granulated like sugar, and I extend a finger, swiping some of it off for a quick taste. Heavy footsteps sound behind me, and then March is snatching my wrist in tight fingers and preventing me from putting my fingertip into my mouth.
“Oh, Doll, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” He yanks my hand up to his own lips, and then flicks his tongue out, swirling it around and lapping up the silver sugar. My heart rate skyrockets, and I shift uncomfortably on the wooden bench, aware of the numerous eyes on my back.
It feels like all of Underland is watching me now.
“What do you mean?” I ask, glaring up at him as he releases me.
“Luckily for you, I can taste poison.” He whips his top hat off, holding it over the table’s surface and allowing a dozen or more test kits to fall from inside. “The sugar is clean, but what if it wasn’t?” He gives the hat a shake, and a few more glass vials fall out. Miraculously, none of them break.
March takes my drink and switches it with Lar’s anyway, pointing an accusatory finger at the pile on the table.
“Test everything.” He replaces his hat and then sits down next to me while I grudgingly grab one of the glass vials, uncork it, and remove a swab from inside. I dip it into my glass, scrape up some of the silver sugar, and replace it inside the vial’s liquid. After a quick shake, I squint my eyes to see if the swab will change color. When it doesn’t, I tuck it away in a pocket on the Queenmaker’s holster (along with several unused kits) and move on.
The other men at the table—save for Rab—grab some of the kits as well.
“Not worried about poison?” I ask him, but he just shrugs one shoulder.
“Rabbits are hard to kill,” he says which may or may not be true. He turns his bloodred gaze over to March. “So, did you come over here all by your lonesome?”
March smirks right back at him, leaning an elbow on the table.
“The insufferable Cat is grooming his genitals with his own tongue”—the edge of March’s lip curls lasciviously—“and the King and the Hatter are embroiled in a caucus.”
Now that I know it’s safe, I lick the edge of my glass to taste the sugar, and then suck on the pretty straw while Lar watches me with undisguised interest. My gaze slides over to his, and he hooks an invitational half-smile. North gives a jealous growl under his breath and hugs my ankle with his tail.
“Wait, a cockus?” Dee blurts, putting his hands flat on the table and leaning forward like he’s just stumbled into some sordid scandal.
“No.” March laughs and sits up straight, snagging a drumstick and tearing into it with his pearly white teeth. “A caucus,” he corrects, as if the two men didn’t just say the same thing. I can’t discern between the words whatsoever.
Dee exhales in relief and sits back, sliding his brother a wry look.
“Ah, I thought they were having a cockus without asking for permission from the primary.” Dee turns to me and flashes a grin, like he finds this entire situation amusing. “Other husbands need permission from both their wife and the primary before they have a cockus.”
Something about that statement seems to annoy March as he scrapes his teeth along the bone to remove the last of the flesh, tossing the remains into a second metal bucket.
“I never gave permission for any cockus,” Tee explains, fingers digging into the surface of the table. He’s looking at it and not at me, like he’s absolutely furious about something. “Not that I appreciate them having a caucus either.” He stands up suddenly, offering me an apologetic look before he reaches up to fix his cap, his crown encircling the frame. “If you’ll excuse me, Allison. I don’t like the idea of those two plotting behind my back.”
“Oh, come off it. As if Brennin would ever betray the Alice alongside the Hatter. You’re being paranoid.” The Duke carefully selects a piece of chicken—err, jubjub—that looks like a wing and shoves the entire thing into his mouth, bones and all. I’m not sure if he even chews.
With a gritting of his teeth, Tee swings his leg over the bench and storms toward the door. March’s mouth twists to the side in a strange smile, like he’s just caused some trouble and he knows it—and likes it.
He picks up another piece of food as I frown.
“I still don’t understand why they’d need permission for a caucus.” Every man at that table laughs at me, even North.
“Oh, Allison-my-wife-the-Alice.” Dee shakes his head and wets the corner of his lip with his tongue. “Not a caucus, a cockus. Your spelling is horrible.” They all laugh together again, and I narrow my eyes, taking my own piece of fried jubjub bird from the bucket and staring at it before I finally take a bite.
Tastes like chicken, no lie.
“Can someone please explain to me the difference?” I ask between bites, a hot ache between my shoulder blades. They all know damn well that I don’t understand what they’re talking about.
“A caucus is a meeting of like minds,” Rab corrects, checking one of his many watch tattoos and frowning. “A cockus is a meeting of cocks.” He looks up at me, as if suggesting that I figure that one out on my own. When I don’t immediately spit it out—I understand what he’s implying—he decides to lay it out for me. “A cockus is when two or more husbands fuck each other in a marriage.” He cocks his head to the side, ears flopping. “You’re awfully innocent for a woman who fucks like a devil.”
I grit my teeth at him, and then decide to chuck the jubjub bird bone in his direction. He snatches the metal bucket and lifts it up just in time to catch it.
My eyes shift over to March, but he’s busy eating, his autumn eyes flicking my way like he can’t possibly understand why I might be staring at him. For the longest time, I’ve wondered if he and Raiden had a thing going on before I showed up. He admitted before we were ever married that the two of them have slept together.
But what about now? Do they still want to sleep together?
I pick up another piece of jubjub and hold it in my hands while I think.
“Are you wanting to have a cockus—” I start, but March just laughs at me, interrupting me before I even get a chance to finish. “What? I can’t even ask the question? Are you that insecure over the whole thing?”
“Doll, look.” He tosses his remaining jubjub onto a plate and turns to look at me, leaning his elbow against the table and resting his head in his hand. “You’re Raiden’s wife now. You’re his Eternal Escort. He is your problem now.” March turns back to his food like it’s all nothing, and somehow, I still think that it’s certainly something.
