“Fortress?” She immediately stiffened in his arms. Looking around at the windowless hallway, the dingy gray stone walls, the lanterns burning every few feet, her eyes grew wide. “What the hell is this place? Oh my God. This is one of those BDSM dungeons isn’t it.”

Apparently deciding that she was done fighting him, he flipped her off his shoulder so he could carry her in front of him again. He looked down at her as he walked.

“What’s BSDM?” he asked.

Lucy instantly felt her cheeks set on fire. She had never been in a weirder situation. “It’s like, um, you know. When people tie each other up and like, have pain sex?”

“Pain sex?” His brow furrowed.

She was suddenly very aware of her breasts that were sort of crushing into his chest. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to look him in the face.               “You know, like the whole pleasure/pain thing.”

“Pleasure/pain,” he repeated, completely deadpan.

“Yeah, like, hurts so good? That kinda thing?”

“This is the kind of sex you have?” His voice had grown very deep. Lucy could feel it vibrate out from his chest and through her. She was suddenly very hot.

“No, no. I mean not really. Not formally. But, like, who hasn’t been spanked every now and then.”

He grunted a little and she darted her eyes up to his face. He stared down at her, his eyes dark and hooded. And really, really brown. Like crazy, amber-ish, gorgeous brown.

 “Spanked,” he repeated.

Lucy scrubbed her hands through the air. “You know what, this is so

not the point. Would you just tell me where the hell I am?”

“We’re here now. So, I guess the King will tell you.”

“King?!” Lucy had heard enough. Twenty minutes ago she’d been on her way to an art show in Queens. And since then she’d been accosted on the street, dragged into a dirty, abandoned subway tunnel, tossed into some sort of black hole, manhandled, chased around, and manhandled some more.

“Sure, why not.” She threw her hands in the air. “Of course there’s a King.”

Muscle man set her down in front of two incredibly ornate stone doors. Giant creatures were carved in great, curling patterns. Gems sparkled in their eyes.

“You’ll be reverent with the King, hatchling.” he said to her, one hand still on her shoulder. “He won’t be happy otherwise.”

She looked up at him, a retort on her tongue, but it died when she saw his genuine expression. He was worried about her.

She shrugged. “Fine. As long as I get some answers.”

“You’ll get answers.” He went to push open the door but paused and turned back to her. “Just, maybe don’t mention pain sex to him.”

“Oh my God.” Lucy face palmed. “I am not usually out here just talking about BDSM. I’m flustered, ok!”

“Ok,” he said, his voice low and his eyes dark. In a move that completely surprised her, he reached out like he was gonna touch her face, but dropped his hand. “Just remember my promise to you.”

This whole situation was thoroughly fucked up and the first chance she got, Lucy knew she was getting the hell out of here. But for some reason, she believed him. She believed he was going to protect her. No matter what.

“Let's meet the King.”

This King Dalyer certainly had a very specific… style. Lucy thought as she looked around the huge chamber. Again, no windows, but plenty of gold filigree, embedded gems, and an absolutely ridiculous amount of velvet. Seriously, how many skeins of velvet had to die to outfit all the drapes in this joint.

The King sat straight in a comically large throne. It was ten times taller and wider than it had to be. The King sat in the middle of it, making him look like he’d been shrunk down. So weird. Actually, now that she thought about it, everything was gigantic. Even the lanterns on the wall were the size of refrigerators.

The King had yet to speak. So far he’d just stared at her with disturbingly dark eyes. Like a snake’s.

Lucy refused to fidget under his gaze, but it had been a fairly stressful evening and no one had offered to show her to the bathroom. Just as she was about to ask for one, the King spoke.

“You're healthy?” he asked.

Kind of flummoxed, Lucy turned to Muscle Man for clarification. He tossed his head toward the King like, answer.

She turned back. “Yeah. I am.”

She wondered if maybe she should have lied. Told him she had some sort of disgusting disease so that he'd let her go.

“But you have Ellington’s syndrome.”

Lucy gaped at him. How the hell did he know that? It wasn’t a deadly disease or anything, just a chromosomal disorder that changed the way she processed proteins. Most people went their whole lives without even knowing they had it. “You accessed my medical records?”

He didn't answer her question. Instead asked another one. “And your mother had asthma, yes? A very particular form?”

Lucy out and out refused to answer this question. She was not about to discuss her mother with this creepy ass man in a weirdly big chair. But Muscles nudged her. She needed to answer.

She nodded curtly.

A smile curled into King Dalyer’s face and Lucy fought not to shiver against it. It made him even creepier.

“Why, you're a miracle.” The King’s voice had a quiet, fascinated edge to it. “Almost as if you were designed just for me.”

Lucy’s blood froze. Tonight she'd been frustrated, angry, startled, nervous, confused, and very scared. But this was the first time she was truly frightened. She felt sick imagining what he meant by that. She shuffled her feet just slightly and immediately felt the warmth of Muscles beside her. Apparently her body had decided it was time to move a little closer to him.

“You see, my family has had a little problem over the last few generations.” The King still hadn’t moved an inch in the chair and his unnatural stillness disturbed her. “Most of our children die.”

At that, he lifted one hand and examined one of the many rings on his fingers. “Even those who make it to adulthood are… weaker than the ancestors. Soon we won't even be able to defend the throne. Especially from this pesky little rebel alliance that keeps rearing its head.”

“Defend the throne with just physical strength?” Lucy asked, unable to keep from cutting in. “Isn't that a little medieval? Couldn't you try, I don’t know, negotiations?”

The King stared at Lucy incredulously, letting out a low chuckle. Even Muscles gave a little chuff of surprise from next to her.

“Child, that is not our way. We are creatures of battle.”

Lucy shrugged, kind of odd phrasing, but whatever. “Alright. So what do I have to do with any of this?” She was one second away from stomping her foot.

“You,” the King said as he finally broke his stick-straight posture and leaned forward, studying her. “Are a delightful little cocktail of DNA. And any child of mine, borne by you, would be the most powerful being in the land.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped. What. The. Royal. Fuck.