ISHTAR
ISHTAR SAT AT HER VANITY, wearing only a silk robe as her handmaid brushed the long, dark cascade of her hair. Just then, the doors slammed open. Her lips curved into a victorious smirk.
"Out!" Demeter barked as he stormed through the room.
The servants immediately scattered, not daring to meet his gaze when he stalked through the queen's chambers.
He stood a foot away from his wife, his disdain visible. "What. Do. You. Want!" he grunted.
Ishtar rose slowly, a coy look on her face. "You, of all people, should know…" She then turned to face him fully, "I always follow through with my threats," she purred.
"Enough—" he growled out.
"No," she denied swiftly, practically purring. "In fact, I am just getting started."
His jaw tightened. Eyes glinting with distaste, body rigid. "What is going to take? What will it take for you to cease tormenting me for your own pleasure?"
Ishtar shot up, stepping closer, until barely a breath separated them, "In the twenty-five years we have been married," her voice trembled with raw bitterness, "You have touched me once."
Demeter's hands clenched at his sides. "You have an heir. You have my crown. You have the realm. What more could you possibly want?" he snapped in a clipped tone, face sour at the current topic. Her avarice delusions were offensive.
"I want you—" she hissed.
Silence rang between them, sharp as steel. Her voice broke again. "I want my husband to fulfill his duties to me, as his wife. I am entitled to consummation—"
Demeter's gaze hardened. "That is not fair."
"Please—" she begged, " I want you to want me," she whispered. "Even if It is only physical… even if It is just tonight. I will take the tea—" she begged, voice trailing off, with an air of her vulnerability.
Demeter stared at her for a long, weighted moment. "Is that truly what you wish for?" His voice was hoarse. "Is that what it will take… for there to be some semblance of peace between us?"
"Yes—"
Demeter's hand shot up, fingers closing around her throat—not in violence, but a warning. "Then swear to me," he growled, "Swear you will limit Rhyssand's involvement in your schemes."
"What schemes?" She tried to deflect, but hitched when his grip tightened slightly. The warning was clear. She stared at him. Then exhaled, voice low. "Fine. I swear it." She nodded, lips trembling.
His cold gaze bored into hers, almost dull… but beneath them, filled with years of frustration, rage, and bitterness, buried under forced vows, deceit, and a loveless union. His grip tightened once—just enough to make her gasp—then he released her. Her breath hitched, and a shudder went through her body. However, instead of stepping back, he snatched her wrist. Before she could speak, he spun her, pressing her chest against the wall so hard the breath was knocked from her lungs, the silk from her robe falling from her shoulders. She gasped again, eyes wide—
"Is this what you wanted?" he hissed. His body caged hers in fully, but still he refused to meet her gaze, voice low, rough. "After everything you have done— to me— You beg me for this?!—"
Ishtar, the foul, perverse cunt had taken everything. His crown, His throne, His dignity, and now she forced him to touchher and give what little he had left. It was her ultimate victory. When she finally found her voice again, nothing came out. She just stared.
Without warning, his other hand roughly tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to bare her throat. Her neck arched painfully, allowing Demeter access to Ishtar's mouth. He bit her bottom lip, his hand tightening its grip on her hair. He pulled away, eyes glaring at her briefly before closing as their lips met again. He crushed his mouth to hers, nothing gentle in it. He battled her for dominance, biting down on her tongue until she whimpered.
Even through layers of clothing, she felt the heat of him, hard and unyielding. She moaned as she slowly dragged her hands up his arms. The position was beginning to get painful, but she was too turned on to care. His other arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer. She gasped into the kiss as he thrust into her from behind, roughly grinding his pelvis against her, caring little for whether he hurt her or not.
But she was a masochist.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan, not wanting to give him a reason to stop. She tried to turn her head to see the sights, but he was not having it; he released her mouth and pinned her face even further into the door.
He did not need her sounds, and he definitely did not even need to see her face. He ripped apart her robe, using the shredded garment as makeshift bindings. The belt became ties for her wrists, and the torn scrap he shoved into her mouth as a gag.
This was his way of punishing her. His hands gripped her hips tighter while she swung her hands to the side, doing her best to scratch at him; her nails left marks that would bruise by morning. Stubbornly, she reached up and grabbed the gag, dropping it.
She felt him shifting behind her, most likely releasing his member from its confines, and was proven right when she felt the hot, blunt tip being thrust into her without warning. She felt the sting, but she did not flinch; she savored the feeling. For this was nothing compared to—
"Is this still what you want?" Demeter cut her train of thought, his voice dripping with venom, hissing, "Still, what you think you need?"
"Yes," she whispered honestly, desperate now.
She trembled with pleasure as time flew by, her husband's stamina and skills nearly overwhelming. He cursed her, spouting words of hatred that she ignored but secretly enjoyed as she finally got close to her end.
Slowly, she angled her head and finally was able to meet his eyes head-on. She had fantasized that face— that he would enjoy making love to her, but instead, that face was glaring at her so fiercely.
Demeter's own gaze strengthened as he saw her looking at him — her face — that he loathed so much
"How does it feel to be hated by your own husband. How does it feel to know I only touch you because I have no other choices?" he snarled against her skin, teeth scraping along her pulse.
"You forget," she gasped at a particularly rough thrust, "We are bound by the same thread—You and I," she gasped, breathless. "You have no choice, should you wish to be a sane man."
"You presume I have not my own pea under the mattress, make no mistake… one of us can do without the other." Demeter grunted, "Not like anyone would want you otherwise." He seized her by the waist and slammed her harder against the chamber door.
For a moment, Ishtar swore she saw stars as his mouth found her throat, biting down hard enough to leave marks that would linger, not deep enough to break skin, though the impact rattled through her bones. A warning for what is to come should she continue this even further.
"Who—" she grunted out. Her nails bore streaks of peeling wood, tearing through the surface. "I will skin her alive—" she choked out.
But he ignored her completely, grinding against her with ruthless intent, making her cry out again and again as he thrust against her, grinding her against the wall.
When he finished, he pulled out abruptly, leaving her gasping for breath. Still holding her pinned to the wall,
Neither spoke.
Both were too focused on catching their breath. Their chests rose and fell in unison, the room heavy with what had passed between them. And though nothing was forgiven… for now, there was quiet. For the first time in twenty-five years—silence.
Finally, Demeter let her go, untied her wrist and moved away..
Her head hit the wall, legs trembling as she slid down, catching herself with a sharp breath. He straightened his tunic, voice cold, unflinching.
"Once a week," he said flatly. "Take it. Or leave it."
She gasped—as she lay there, her chest heaving, her pride bruised but unbroken. "You will not spend the night?" she taunted, her voice laced with false innocence.
He turned to her, his eyes burning with disdain. "Fuck you," he spat, his voice raw with emotion. He stormed toward the door, his wings rustling angrily behind him.
Without another glance, he opened it—stepping out.
Deemeter paused at the door, his hand on the handle. H
There stood Azreaphel, waiting. Their eyes met.
"I would not envy me, boy," Demeter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Go find your wife, at least you could actually fuck her." With that, he left, the door slamming shut behind him.
Azreaphel stood frozen, heart beating five times as fast as He looked at the queen, who had risen from the floor, completely bare, her wings unfurling gracefully as she approached him. Her smile was predatory, her eyes glinting with triumph.
"He knows?"
"What does it matter? He is just jealous," she purred, running a finger along Azreaphel's jawline. "Plans have changed," she said smoothly. "Well, be leaving Rhyssand to his own devices for now."
"But—"
"Do not worry, you will be rewarded all the same." Her lips curled. "Now run along and make me proud," she said, upon closing her door.
Azeraphel blinked. His gaze stilled, frozen on her flushed skin, had the faint, glistening trail left behind on her stomach and lower, his eyes flared indeed in envy.