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That man had confidence. He didn’t have to hide. He never pretended to be weaker, shyer, lesser. He never compromised his integrity with lies.
I want to be myself with Nix, I don’t want to be Ares. I want her to know me, not him.
I want to fuck her as myself.
But then I walked into the woods with her, and all my resolve disappeared. Nature is Nix’s place. It belongs to her. When I’m in the forest with her, the rest of the world ceases to exist. Nothing outside of us matters, and I’m free to be who I want and do what I want.
I kissed her under that tree, and I had to fucking have her.
I threw her down, the leaves mixing with her hair, and I worshipped her like the goddess she is.
I got down between her legs and tasted her fully for the first time. I’ve never had so much pleasure just from the sensation of my tongue. All five senses were right there: her rich taste, the velvet texture of her skin, the sight of those creamy thighs wrapped around me, the sounds of her moans, and her sweet scent filling my lungs.
It was heaven. I felt her cumming against my mouth, and I truly experienced enlightenment.
She put my cock in her mouth, and the whole universe melted away. I was in her and she was in me, and everything was as it should be.
Then we walked back to the castle, reality crashing down on me with all the weight of its attendant guilt.
I want to tell Nix the truth. But I can’t.
She loves her father. If she knew what we intend to do to Marko Moroz . . . she’d fight us. She’d have to defend him. Just like I would do for my family.
I’ve already gotten too close to her, let her see too much.
I’m taking stupid risks, and it’s all going to blow up in my face.
I’d been down in the archives because my mother had a new idea.
The archives under Kingmakers are vast. Maps are of great use to thieves. Generations of mafia have hoarded every diagram, every blueprint they could get their hands on. Even the properties of other mafia families aren’t safe.
We have a remarkable amount of material to look through.
Unfortunately, almost no organization.
The last several Chancellors of Kingmakers weren’t academics. Little attention was given to the quality of the librarians.
My mother arrived to a maelstrom of decaying, disorganized mounds. The more she searched, the more daunting the task appeared.
She was trying to drink an Olympic-sized swimming pool one teaspoon at a time.
Still, she never hesitated. She never slowed. She never gave the slightest indication that we might not succeed.
Until last year. Then I finally saw the tiniest cracks start to form as she began to reach the end of the archives without finding what we needed.
We had so few clues. We searched castles, monasteries, fortresses, manor houses, and even old prisons. Nothing seemed to match.
Until my mother thought of mines.
We knew the place was old, and that it had a water source beneath—we had always assumed a moat or river.
She fixed upon the idea of an aqueduct to carry away waste, and she began to search again.
Six potential locations seemed to fit what we knew. She brought me down to the archives to see for myself.
I hardly dared to believe it, but we seemed so much closer than we’d ever been before.
I wanted it to be true . . . while dreading what that would mean.
