The Swell and Crash of Surrender: Rise of the Death Fae, #3

By Val Saintcrowe

The capital erupts. Their forces swollen with the raised dead, the fae armies overwhelm the empire's legions and crush them in one bloody day. In the wake of the battle…

Magdalia tries to make her husband Duranth, the Croith, see that their magic has no concern for their people. It only wants blood. Can she hold it back, or will she and her king be swallowed whole in the ecstatic madness of dark power?

Naxus Albus, dux bellorum, deserts the legions for the love of a woman he calls Galvia. What he doesn't know is that she's a fae spy, and that she was sent by his half brother Larent to destroy him.

Olirius Cassus knows the fae woman Isha in his cage is useless to him in the wake of the capital's demise. He should kill her. But it does seem a waste to destroy something so pretty.

Prantia Onivia is safe on the other side of the mountains in Emmessia, where she will do anything to protect her unborn child, even court the attention of the Emmessian emperor.

Legatus Larent isn't dead for some reason, even though that's what he deserves. If he can't die, he'll protect his people, even if that means protecting them from their own Night King, who is increasingly erratic and violent. Above all, most importantly, he'll stay away from Onivia. Forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Punk Rawk Books
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224258345

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

YOUR MAJESTY, THIS is important. Perhaps you’d like to join us later, in the council room. After you’re… dressed? The fae saying this was staring at the floor, not at the Night King, because the Night King was in bed next to his wife Magdalia, the Sun Queen.

Magdalia was covered and so was her husband Duranth. They were both nude under the blankets, however. She had them pulled all the way up to her chin, but Duranth was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard, the blankets crumpled at his waist, leaving his arms and chest bare.

He yawned, stretching as he did so, raising his arm—the one which didn’t have a hand, only a stump—above his head.

Magdalia couldn’t help but enjoy the view, the way his muscles stretched and undulated under his skin. She even found the scars on his back appealing in their way. They were part of him, and she loved him all.

I’m not planning on getting dressed for some time, said Duranth.

The fae who stood at the foot of the bed blushed.

Magdalia had once been embarrassed by this sort of thing, too, but she wasn’t anymore. It seemed normal and natural to her, and she would hazard a guess that most of the fae that served them were not nearly as affected by it as this one was. He must be new. She didn’t know him.

Duranth was still talking. You might as well tell me now.

The fae cleared his throat. Well, we have some intelligence from Galvina, the spy who is with Legatus Naxus Albus, the dux bellorum?

Magdalia knew about this, but only secondhand, from Duranth. He didn’t tend to consult her on battle strategy, and this was likely because he didn’t really trust her to be on the side of the fae, though that distrust was unfounded now.

True, Duranth had killed her family and taken her prisoner and tricked her into doing magic with him, using all manner of manipulations—from preying on her sympathy for fae children, to outright seduction, to the inexorable power of their bonded magic because they were the fated fulfillment of a prophecy of two fae from opposite courts, light and dark—but in the end, none of that mattered anymore. She had chosen her path, and it was by his side. And she had rejected her human upbringing in favor of her people—the fae. She would do whatever she could to end slavery in the empire and to help the fae rise. Duranth could trust her. He knew this. He did not hide his battle strategy from her, but he also didn’t go out of his way to include her in it.

She supposed this was because he thought she would be bored by it, and there was some truth to that. Magdalia was not one to dwell on dull things.

I thought she was only concerned with the disappearance of the other one, said Duranth, yawning again, and scratching his flat stomach at the same time. What was her name? Issia?

Isha, Your Majesty.

Duranth turned to look at Magdalia. He reached over to feather the fingers of his good hand over her shoulder. Isha, yes. She’s probably dead now, that’s what we think?

We have no idea what’s become of her, said the fae. But Galvina has said that the legatus is planning to hold out until spring, when the legions will rejoin him. He thinks the senators and aristocrats will come back to the capital at that point. So, we think we must strike sooner than spring to retake the capital.

Do we. This was not a question. Duranth’s fingers wormed under the blankets, moving deliciously over Magdalia’s skin.

She shot him a scolding look.

His lips curved into a smile.

Your Majesty, choked the fae. This is important, and we should discuss—

What does Larent think? said Duranth.

Magdalia made a sour face at the mention of the name. Larent had abused and violated her sister Onivia and gotten Onivia with child. Recently, he’d come back badly wounded from putting Onivia on a train to the neighboring country of Emmessia, and Magdalia had wanted to let him die, but because he was useful to the fae cause, she’d used her magic to heal him.

Well, nothing, because he’s still resting, said the fae.

Oh, so why am I being bothered? said Duranth. He tugged on Magdalia’s blanket. Go away. I’m about to uncover my wife’s breasts, and if you see them, I’ll have to kill you.

Magdalia pressed the blanket tightly against her chest. Duranth, she said in disapproval. I thought we decided we weren’t going to just randomly kill people for stupid reasons.

This wouldn’t be a stupid reason, said Duranth.

But the fae was bowing and muttering, Yes, Your Majesty. Apologies, Your Majesty. He scurried out of the room.

The door shut just as Magdalia lost her tug-of-war over the blankets with her husband and he pulled them down to bare her breasts.

Good morning, my love, he said to her chest.

She rolled her eyes. You’re awful.

You like that about me, he said, lowering his lips to one of her nipples.

She sighed, arching her back as pleasure went through her. "I don’t like that about you. You can be very sweet, and I like that about you."

You like everything about me, he countered and captured her other nipple and sucked. His other hand came up to cup her breast. Say it.

I like everything about you, she gasped, writhing under his ministrations, her own hand snaking over her thighs and finding herself between.

You touching yourself? he said in a thick voice.

Maybe, she said coyly. As if he couldn’t feel it through their bond.

He pinched her nipple. Naughty, greedy Madga.

She giggled. She didn’t stop.

He lifted his mouth from her breast and replaced it with his stump, which he rubbed against her nipple with a surprising skill. She was always amazed at the things he could do with that thing. (Had it been inside her? Well…) How is Larent? Is he going to recover in enough time to tell us whether we should attack the capital?

I healed him, so yes. He’s just sleeping it off, she said. And honestly, I miss the palace. This villa is nice, but…

Mmm, agreed Duranth. No place like home. He kissed her.

She moaned into his mouth, because she was still rubbing her own clit, and because kissing him always felt good. Everything about him felt good.

Their magic squirmed between them, ignited by their closeness, strengthened by it.

Does that mean we’ll do it? she said.

We have to breach the walls, he said. How many dead can we marshal, do you think? Enough that we could just stack bodies high enough to climb over?

She shuddered. That’s awful.

He shrugged. He sat up, stretching again.

She took him in, looking over his body, his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, his muscled stomach and thighs. His cock was erect and it was beautiful. He was beautiful.

She pushed him back on the bed, but not with her hand, with magic—magic that she stole from his body, pulled into her own, and used against him.

He let out a grunt, but it was a pleased grunt.

She crawled over to cage him in, her hands and knees planted on either side of his body.

He looked her over appreciatively. Her breasts hung over him. He flicked one of her nipples, a bright spot of pain that melted into pleasure.

She moaned.

He flicked the other one.

She gasped.

Suck me, he said.

She had been thinking about it, actually, but she gave him a wickedly playful smile. No.

He smiled back, a savage smile.

They held each other’s gaze for several moments, and then he opened the bond between them, wide open, flooding her suddenly with the sensation of what it was like inside his body, how his cock was hard and pulsing, how aroused he was, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

She gasped again, as her pleasure found his, as their magic surged and crested and strengthened, flooding back into both of them with its own pleasure. Each sensation was another layer of bliss.

He reached up and gathered her hair into his hand, raking his nails against her skull, each sensation a flurry of pain and excitement. He wrapped his hand around it and tugged.

That hurt.

Her head was pulled back. She grunted.

Yes, he said, out of breath. Suck me.

"No." Her neck hurt. He was yanking on her hair very hard, and it was anguish, and it reached down her spine.

He felt it through the bond. It hurt him and it pleased him.

She felt his balls twitch, felt his cock harden and lengthen. She moaned.

He pushed on her shoulder with his stump.

She pushed back, resisting.

He liked the resistance. This made him harder, and between her legs, she could feel herself swelling. She had a little tremor, rippling through her sex.

He felt it through the bond and groaned. He pulled her hair and pushed on her shoulder, and he overwhelmed her resistance.

Or maybe she gave.

It was all the same in the end.

She was eye level with his cock. It was hard and proud and the tip was reddened and swollen. She licked it.

He groaned again. His grip on her hair lessened.

That felt good, the release of the pain, and she groaned too.

He yanked her hair again.

She gasped.

Suck me. His voice was gravelly. Now.

Yes, she said.

Yes, what?

Yes, dominus, she said, calling him the name for masters of slaves, and her mouth sank down on him. She didn’t know why the word was so explosive between them—maybe because he had been her slave once. But that was only pain. It shouldn’t… there was no reason that they would turn to it as this game between them, this vicious coupling they did, but they did, and she… she liked it.

Maybe she felt ashamed of liking it sometimes, but that didn’t matter.

She liked the feel of Duranth’s cock in her mouth, too, all of his satiny hard warm flesh gliding against her tongue, nudging the back of her throat. She swallowed him.

He let go of her hair completely, panting.

She started her rhythm, stroking long and slow against him, picking up speed as she took cues from him through the bond of what he liked.

It felt good, and she could feel her own body responding to it. This might be a time that she came with him, that she didn’t just share his climax through the bond, that it made her climax as well. That didn’t always happen, but when it did, it was good.

She wanted it to happen, suddenly.

She pulled off him, licking her lips. I don’t know, dominus. I might be bored.

His chest rose and fell with the intensity of his breathing. You little cunt.

She giggled. Naughty me, she said in a sultry voice. You’ll have to—

He seized her hair again.

She let out a long, satisfied whimper, and her sex clenched. Yes. That was what she needed.

Suck my cock, slave, he ground out.

She put her mouth back, eager now. He tugged her hair in rhythm to her strokes. Bright spots of pain followed by an ecstasy of relief. It twirled in with Duranth’s pleasure, with the way it felt from the inside of his body, how good it felt to him, how much she liked the feel of his skin against her tongue.

He was close, now, suddenly. She could feel it. He never lasted very long in the morning anyway, and this morning, this was particularly good this morning.

She thrust a hand between her legs, just gripping herself, not stroking, putting pressure where she needed it.

He let go of her hair. You want to swallow or not? he panted.

Mmph. She couldn’t decide. She was not fond of the taste of him first thing in the morning, but then the alternative was the mess. Both bits of discomfort seemed equally arousing, however. She wasn’t sure why that was. Why should things she didn’t like make her pleasure more intense?

I’m coming on your face, he said.

No, she moaned, clamping down her hand on herself, even as the first bits of her orgasm came for her.

He pulled out of her mouth forcefully.

She slammed her eyes shut. It was awful when it got in her eyes.

And then she was coming, and it was good. Fortune’s favor, it was better than good. It was like she was tossed out into the middle of some violent sea storm, thrown in the wind and battered by the waves, every heave of it better than the last.

She hit a peak of pleasure and then it exploded again, taking her even higher, and this repeated more than once, and then Duranth came, and then the magic spurted too, pushing out through her limbs like a geyser, and she was overflowing with pleasure, racked by it, destroyed by it.

It wasn’t ever going to end, she thought. It would go on and on and she couldn’t take much more of it, it was too much. It was too good. Her entire body was going to split at the seams if it—

But then it started to ebb, and it did leave her, left both of them, and she slumped down on the bed, and Duranth was there with a wet cloth, cleaning her face, his voice gentle. Don’t open your eyes, my love. I don’t want it to sting you.

She made a mumbling noise of surrender and satisfaction.

He worked slowly and carefully, and the wet cloth was its own pleasant sensation. As he did it, she took stock of her body and his, of any pains or aches that might have been caused to either of them by their lovemaking—because it was that, it was love, and it was an expression of love, and she knew it—and she healed them both.

There, he breathed.

She opened her eyes.

His face loomed over hers, and he was beautiful.

She reached up to touch his cheek. Good morning, my love.

He kissed her.

She clung to him.

CHAPTER TWO

LARENT RAN HIS fingers through his beard—well, the bit of hair that grew on his chin, anyway, which couldn’t rightly really be termed a beard—making it stand straight up. He was looking down at a map of the capital. When do you want to strike?

I don’t want to do anything, said the Night King, who was seated at the end of the table where the map was spread out. The Sun Queen, Onivia’s sister, was perched on his lap, and the Night King was running his fingers absently through her long, golden curls. "I’m not here with a plan. I’m asking you for a plan."

Larent kept his eyes on the map and not on the king and queen, not because he was bothered by their public display of intimacy, because the Croith was always touching the queen if she was close, but because he didn’t like looking at the queen after she had been hesitant to heal him. They’d brought her to him, and she’d said that she wanted him to suffer. She’d sneered at him and said he deserved to die.

So, he didn’t look at her, but it wasn’t because he was afraid of her.

No, he was angry with her.

He wished she would never have healed him.

And he was angry in equal parts with the queen and himself, because he wanted to be dead, and it was both her fault and his fault that he wasn’t.

By all rights, he should have been dead. His half brother Legatus Naxus Albus had nearly kicked his face in, but the kick hadn’t killed him, and Larent had gotten away before the other man could get another kick in.

Why?

Why hadn’t Larent lain there and waited for Albus to get up from where he’d slipped in the snow and finish the job?

He’d known what he should do.

In one blinding flash, it had all been clear.

My life for what I did to Onivia.

Death. Death would have wiped clean all his sins. He would have been gone from the world and he wouldn’t be able to torment any other woman ever again, nor could he disappoint himself any further.

But, no, he was alive.

If he wasn’t such a coward, he would simply do it himself. It wasn’t as if he didn’t go everywhere armed with a revolver.

Load the thing, fit it to his temple, pull the trigger.

But, no, he didn’t do that either.

Larent despised himself.

The Croith was talking again. Look, you said that we should spend the winter using death fae magic to weaken their forces, so that when spring came, we’d have an easier time of fighting them.

Well, that was also because they weren’t attacking us, said Larent. Most of the human legions forces had holed up for the winter, making semi-permanent encampments, not marching to battle. Albus had been a notable exception, but he’d taken the capital and then holed up there, so now he was like the rest of them.

Can we take the capital? said the Night King.

Of course, said Larent. With your armies of dead men, we’ll have the advantage of numbers. Also, you can raise anyone who dies and have them fight for our side, so that uses all of their casualties against them, and means that we essentially have no casualties. Furthermore, the dead men have the advantage of never needing to rest and not needing to be fed, so they are no drain on our resources. I suppose eventually, they rot away, but it’s winter now, so they’re quite well preserved. This was a grim sort of enumeration, he supposed, but it was all true.

So, why was it you wanted to wait? said the Croith.

Larent supposed he shouldn’t tell him that he’d been trying to think of ways to win the war without the armies of the dead, because he’d committed to helping Onivia take her sister away from the Night King. However, Onivia had come here and seen how devoted the king and queen were to each other and given up on the idea.

Only days ago, he’d put Onivia on a train to Emmessia, where he hoped she’d be safe. She should be safe, away from this war and away from the strife and danger. She was an aristocrat, and she would be welcomed by others who had fled from Vostria and sought shelter in Emmessia.

The only reason she might not be safe was that she was pregnant. It was his child, which meant it had fae blood, and she might be in danger if the aristocrats saw that she was passing off a half-blood as the son of her late husband, a human. He wasn’t sure what the consequences of such a discovery might be, but he hoped that it would never happen.

This was not at all what he should be thinking of, of course. Onivia was gone, and he should put her from his mind. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, and he couldn’t blame her for that. That was why he’d almost let himself be killed, after all, because of his guilt over what he’d done to her.

His list of sins against Onivia was particularly insidious.

Rape.

Sexual coercion.

Getting her with a bastard half-blood child she certainly didn’t need or want.

Bending her to his will, using her for his own purposes, paying lip service to the idea of her comfort and pleasure, but never truly protecting her, never setting her free, never making her life any better than it was, only making it worse, vastly worse, constantly worse.

But he had to stop thinking about this.

Thinking this only made him more ashamed of himself for being too lily-livered to commit suicide.

The stupid Croith had bade his wife heal Larent so that Larent could be useful to the fae cause, and if he had to stay alive, he could at least try to do something productive for his people.

Larent stroked his beard again, making it lie down this time. Well, the real problem of turning our attentions to the capital before we’ve thoroughly whittled away at the legions is that then they’ll come and attack us, likely in the spring.

Yes, but we’ll be behind the walls of the capital, said the Croith. Won’t we be in a superior position then?

Possibly, said Larent. Of course the walls of the capital were built before cannons were invented.

Cannons can knock down the walls? said Magdalia, eyes wide.

Oh, yes, said Larent. "The walls around the capital are thick, so it wouldn’t be easy, but it’s possible."

So, we should wait, then? said the Night King. He brushed the hair away from the queen’s neck and kissed it. Continue sabotaging the legions with magic, creating storms, destroying their food supplies, loosing disease? Some death fae were talented with blighting things. Wait for spring to attack the capital ourselves?

Larent turned away from the table. The saltpeter mines are on Innia. They have to be brought in by ship.

What’s saltpeter? said Magdalia.

It’s an ingredient in gunpowder, said the Croith. There was a pause. Larent wasn’t looking but he expected the king was kissing her again. We need gunpowder for cannons. He raised his voice, addressing Larent. So, we should disrupt the shipments to the empire?

Larent turned around. We should sent someone to Innia and negotiate with them to sell it to us instead. They were conquered less than a decade ago. I know, because Naxus Albus did it. It was his first victory, and I remember having to watch the celebration on the villa when he came home. They’d held out for years, and he took them by understanding where they sent the women and children to hide during battles. He threatened to kill the children, and… Larent snapped his fingers. Just like that, Innia fell to the empire.

He’s a bit tricksy and underhanded, Naxus, isn’t he? said the Croith. Are we sure he doesn’t have fae blood?

Larent chuckled mirthlessly. Fairly sure, yes, although if it weren’t so, I’d love to see his face when he found that out. He turned back to the map. "Anyway, I can guarantee that Innia is not happy to have been conquered, and if we can match the amount the empire is paying, we can have all the saltpeter, I imagine."

No more cannons, said the Night King.

No more cannons, repeated Larent.

I need a ship to send to Innia, said the Croith. Do we have ships?

We’ll have ships if we retake the capital, said Larent.

The Croith chuckled. Then, it’s decided?

It’s decided, said Larent.

ONCE OLIRIUS CASSUS had loved a girl named Cyria Magdalia. She had been young, golden-haired, capricious, and frivolous and he had been foolish in his affections, young and naive, thinking that he could somehow win her love.

He’d been wrong about it.

He’d tried to rescue her, and she hadn’t needed rescuing because she seemed to enjoy being held captive. Sometimes, in his most horrible dreams, he recalled watching her kiss the Night King, the way her hand rested against the man’s chest, her eyes closed, her body tilted towards his. In those dreams, Cassus was forced to watch it over and over again, and he could not look away.

When he woke from those dreams, he felt the grimness of his purpose heavy on his shoulders.

He had joined with a group of Favored humans who could do magic, and they had determined that the magic that the Night King held was too powerful, too wild, and too strong. With every passing day, the Night King and his queen grew stronger. They must be stopped.

Their plan was to kill the Croith.

After that, Cassus supposed that Magdalia would be free. He had once dreamed of being with her himself after freeing her from the Croith, but he no longer had any desire for her. She had gone willingly enough to that monster. He couldn’t summon an ounce of attraction for her.

Admittedly, things within Cassus had shifted considerably since he’d been that young and foolish man. The sorts of things that aroused him these days, well…

At first he hadn’t noticed it, because he’d been very intent on his work, as he liked to call it. His work was interrogation, capturing fae who were