novelraw Chapter 385: I Hate to Love You
Chapter 385: I Hate to Love You
• 50 000 LEAGUES BEYOND THE COLD SEA, THE FREELANDS.
The morning came slow. At least in this part of the Nine Realms. Despite the prolonged sunrise, nothing could appease the heart of the [Empyrean]. Not the lavender mural of the skies. Not the reach of the greenland panorama. The dawn upset her.
As Empyrean, she was both empress and first commander of the Dragonrider covenant. A girl of nineteen moons. Daughter of a Seraphim and the notorious Usurper. By inheritance of her villain father she now sat the fae throne, head of the House of the Raven. And it was she who did not much appreciate the slow morning.
"My Empress!" The sweep of a veil ushered in an older girl with long purple hair, corals for eyes, and an unforgettable soft voice. "You’re awake." This servant girl had seen five summers beyond the empress, but she bowed straight down to her waist. The [Empyrean] wasn’t even looking her way.
Dropping off her obsidian tray of breakfast which she’d come in with, her naked feet pattered on the pristine floors of the villa to the stone balcony. It was a baroque loggia overlooking an oasis of the Freelands. Distant camels trodded under fat palms. The servant girl came up behind, her voice like Aphrodite’s kiss, "Insomnia again, Ravenna?"
She used a more informal approach. The nineteen-year old empress with whom she spake still had not given a clue to acknowledge her servant girl"s presence.
A bit taller, the girl moved quietly behind, wrapping her arms around the [Empyrean], hugging her from the back. "My little Raven," she tried again. Anything to make the empress say something, smile, or even fart. Pius the Blessed had done exactly that during his ecclesiastical reign. He’d fart into ornate urns of glass and cedar. The explanation of it remained a mystery till this day. A queen and commander without any emotions—especially one as insanely powerful, both in the arcane and reach of her empire wasn’t good for the commonfolk. They need a happy ruler, or at least one that talked, from time to time.
"Ravenna?" came the servant girl’s voice again, very telling in its softness. Her arms around the young queen’s midriff was softly stroking the navel. A touch so bare it was as the whisper of the hands. "Please, my little Rav—"
"Don’t call me that." Ravenna’s own tone was short and clipped.
"I’m sorry," the girl talked in her embrace of her, "I-I shouldn’t have. I was out of line. But I’m glad it got you to talk, you know." Ravenna didn’t laugh. "—ahem," the servant girl mumbled behind, "I know I’m not him—"
"You’re not."
This hurt the maiden, whose name was Falka—a close friend of Mikhail Romanov III during their days at Corynthia. It was the Rocasian prince who’d recommended Falka for the job. "You’re only here, Falka, because you are a figment reminder of the glorious past I shared with my friends. A past I have, apparently not let go of. Do not misconstrue or forget your place."
If Falka had being hurt before, now she was mad. She pulled back from the hug, gathering on all of the vocal willpower within her, for what she was about to say might cost her, her head. Falka moved to the side to face Ravenna. Unlike the empress she wasn’t really into the nirvana beyond the villa. Falka’s coral eyes resembled pools of rushing ice as she spewed angrily, "I don’t know why you insist on being emo all the time. It was cute for a while, now its plain ridiculous. We left Titans Landing because the High Magus prescribed a change of scenery to help with your night fevers. It’s been four days and you won’t even leave this fucking gallery!" she yelled in Ravenna’s face, "your DEMON is GONE, and he ain’t never coming bac—"
Ravenna backhanded Falka.
PAAAH!
The slap was so sharp even the servant girl was lost in a loop for seconds. But the empress did not waver; she was not done with Falka. "Come here, little purple bitch!" Ravenna grabbed hold of Falka while the girl was still clutching to her burning cheek. Her face was on fire, tears welling in her pretty eyes. Good, Ravenna thought. "You don’t talk to me that way. GOT IT, little bitch?!"
Falka did try in vain to nod, but Ravenna was using no mundane strength to hold her bent over the loggia. The [Empyrean] was pulling on her supernatural. As a half-angel, if Ravenna so little as eased her grip, poor Falka would drop the deadly plunge from the Romanesque villa to the hot sands, to her death. Just a pretty blight on the silk roads for merchants to ignore, for wilder vultures to fill their bellies. Just another hot bimbo run her mouth on a regent.
No creature’d give a shit.
"I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry." Falka had both her hands upraised in surrender. She was dangling right over the edge. Ravenna easily pulled her back, and her bare feet touched steady opalstone again. Despite being damn near just murdered by the empress, Falka still felt her face heat up and turn pink when Ravenna moved in, closing the short distance between them. It was known to all and sundry across the Nine Realms that their [Empyrean] was a catch. But most of all, it was known to Falka.
The servant girl had being crushing on her empress ever since she’d brought in her first morning tray and seen Ravenna in her slip, bent over a study table, round spectacles on her pale face, jet black Irish hair to her knees. This had been back in Titans Landing, some long moons ago. Falka had not forgotten that moment. The moment she had stepped for a slip of time through the veil of the [Seely Realm] and witnessed one of the Fair.
Ravenna had made Falka gay...which was exactly why her words stung more, when she’d said to her, ’you’re not him.’
In the very moment, Falka had not blinked in thirty seconds. How could she? Ravenna was in her face. The empress’s eyes were the forest of Lochinvar. Evergreen as you could imagine.
Her face was sculpted by the faerie. Falka could barely breathe in such closeness. She’d heard that demon had openly confessed Ravenna as his redeemer, now she understood why. But what kind of asshole runs away from a relationship with the [Empyrean]. Falka didn’t know the full tale but she knew she’d never run from her angel queen. Speaking of, Ravenna’s dainty hand was still squeezing on her throat. In Falka’s dirty mind she was begging her queen to choke her harder.
She hadn’t taken the gig as the maid of the Empress because she’d no other prospects. She was the love child of an Admiral and a pirate mum; she was good financially. She had taken the job because she’d get to see Ravenna everyday, every night, forever.
And her attraction to the [Empyrean] might be unhealthy, but who wasn’t weird these days in the kingdom.
Ravenna’s fingers closed harder around her throat. Falka’s thighs felt warmth pool. Ravenna whispered softly in her face, "I know why you’re being such a bitch."
Falka let a little moan slip. "Why?"
"You want me to fuck you."
Falka’s eyes grew, her wet pupils enlarging. Her empress was right. It’s what she’d craved. Her most private thoughts. For Ravenna to bend her over literally anything and fuck her bad, like she deserved. Ravenna saw the sexual starvation in Falka’s coral eyes. She shook the servant girl by her neck. Her face closed whatever space remained between them, "—you want me to fuck you? Huh? You want me to FUCK you, BITCH!"
Falka couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed hold of Ravenna, need making her a bold fool, and she kissed the empress hard.
Falka, despite having had no practice with a woman before, kissed Ravenna so good. Her mouth consumed the empress in fervor, giving and taking. And Ravenna let the girl have her fun. The initial release was so hot Ravenna actually did feel electric when Falka’s warm tongue sank into her mouth. Falka kissed her till they were both breathless and panting. Ravenna’s hand stayed at her throat, guiding the wanton way Falka was drowning in her taste.
Falka sucked her lips till they were shiny with the servant girl’s own saliva. She pushed back to adore and move Ravenna’s black tresses from her sweet face.
"Oh fuck...my queen. Ohh!"
Falka’s hands turned exploratory, roaming all over Ravenna’s body, groaning at the soft, warm flesh she felt everywhere. She buried her face in Ravenna’s white neck, inhaling as she fondled the queen’s body. Frankly, Falka didn’t know when she’d get another like this, or if this one was even real, so she pressed and groped her fill. "You’re so hot." She sucked in the peach-soft skin of Ravenna’s neck, feeling her up, moaning and mumbling, "so hot. I’ve been dreaming about this. Holding you. Touching you. Rubbin’. Fucking you. Mhmm—"
Falka forgot her wits and smacked Ravenna.
PAH!
"Fuck. Oh shit. Forgive me, my queen." But she did it again—two more times. The girl could not help herself. Ravenna, gorgeous and petite was in her hand. She pulled the young empress more into her body on the loggia’s surround stone. One of Ravenna’s long legs was curved up at her waist and Falka’s ardent tongue was fluidly licking her way into the queen’s creamy cleavage. A turning point of their passion. But when Ravenna felt Falka’s long finger snake into her asscrack she pushed off the heat of their pressed bodies.
Falka had been smooth with it so far. Ravenna would be lying if she acted like she didn’t like the wet kiss, or the rub-down, or, the spanking. But Falka still wasn’t him.
"What’s for breakfast?" Ravenna avoided Falka’s colloid eyes, and still reaching hands. If Falka were a boy, her hard-on would be a cucumber shooting straight out her crotch. Apparently, blue vag was a thing, and she had just given it to her maid.
Falka started. "Ravenna, he ain’t here. It’s just me and you. Let me fuck you. Give us this release. Ravenn—"
"I ain’t repeating myself, Falka."
The servant girl bowed her head. Her shoulders sank in defeat. "It’s your favorite, Your Eminence, bread, eggs, and veggies, with almond milk." Falka forced herself to resume routine as her steps led back into the villa. "The food has being checked by the official tasters. May the Martyr heal, Your Eminence."
May the Martyr heal, was something natives of the capital said as a form of, ’enjoy your meal’.
Falka watched Ravenna settle herself in front of the large painting by Camerlengo, of the auburn-haired demon that had broken her heart. Not a metaphor. Her ex was a real devil. The painting was called the Horned god. And from what little gossip Falka had gathered off Delilah Manatee, the palace governess, this painting of the devil, Lord Israfel Bludthïrste, it had survived a manor fire, three wars, and a Hellscape dimension.
Falka heard the empress say in between her soft chewing to the painting—which for a horned fucker, he was real good-looking, "I hate to love you, asshole."
Falka whispered right back to the young queen. "I hate to love you too."
She was just learning that in the world of horns and halos, it was a cycle of maddening passion, unrequited love, forsaken romance, and betrayals that changed the world.