He throws his head back and laughs, and the music players miss a note. The conversation swells after a moment, and Aron gives my breast one last proprietary squeeze before releasing it. “You stay here,” he tells me, keeping an arm locked around my waist. As if he’s just now remembering where we’re at, he glances over at Lord Secuban as I pick up my wine goblet. “How big is Novoro’s army?” he asks, tone mild.

The lord of the keep wastes no time in announcing numbers. I don’t pay any attention to what he’s saying, because it’s already clear to me that Aron has no interest in having these people be his army. He’s just toying with the guy while I’m occupied. I take a couple of bites of food…and moan. Holy fuck, these people can make some amazing dishes. Everything has a wealth of delicate spices that make even the most basic vegetables incredible. I take a bite out of everything and nibble on some buttery, fresh-baked bread. It’s all delicious, and I lick my fingers as I eat while Aron talks to Lord Secuban. Lady Gerline sits on the pillow at her husband’s feet, but she’s not eating. She looks rather defeated, her shoulders slumped. And when she looks over at me, I can see the jealousy in her eyes.

Tough titty.

I feel another possessive stab at the thought of another woman touching Aron. I don’t like the idea at all. She can sit on her pillow and pout, I decide as I eat another mouthful of bread. I watch the rest of the room as I pack away the food, ignoring the astonished looks that the serving girls give me as I clear my plate and another is put before me. They’ll figure out soon enough that my appetite isn’t human. Until then, they can just keep bringing the food. I chew on a bit of chicken—at least, it tastes like chicken—and glance down the hall. The enormous tables are full of people sitting shoulder to shoulder on the long benches, and the conversation’s turned boisterous now that Aron’s relaxed. Serving girls flit between men, all wearing the practically open dress like the one I’ve borrowed. They seem to enjoy the clothing, though. As I watch, one brunette deliberately leans over far to fill someone’s wine, and as she does, her breasts are exposed by the deep vee of the gown. One of the men reaches forward and fondles her breast as if it’s part of the meal, and I stiffen.

The girl just laughs, grabs him by his hair and gives him a fierce kiss, and then moves down the row to fill someone else’s cup.

Well, they did say these people were weird.

Music starts, and a new course of delicious things is brought out. I try a few of the sweets and then give up, holding my overflowing belly.

“Sated?” Aron asks, his arm moving around my waist and pulling me back when a servant clears my plate.

I shiver, because he didn’t ask if I was full. He asked if I was sated and that feels like it has a billion different meanings, all of them filthy. “I’m good for now.” I put my hand over his and lean back against him, relaxing and listening to the music as Lord Secuban discusses defenses of his keep and how much more defensible it is than the Citadel, which rumor has told him has fallen to Aventine’s army. I notice Aron doesn’t confirm anything, so I don’t speak up, either. Let him wonder.

Plates are cleared away and I watch the servants work. No one’s getting up from the tables, and as I scan the room, I see the men are getting handsier and handsier with the girls, tugging on their clothing as they pass by and grabbing at boobs and butts. One girl mock-spills into someone’s lap and then she’s all flustered giggles as the man buries his face in her practically exposed breasts. I’m a little scandalized when their seat neighbor joins in, kissing the girl and slipping a hand under her skirt.

It occurs to me that no one’s looking at this as unnatural. It also occurs to me that there aren’t any children at this party.

Sure enough, the man stands up, pushing the girl forward on the now-cleared table. He leans over her and starts pumping while everyone else around cheers and calls out encouragement. The girl just laughs and reaches for the man sitting across the table, as if one guy isn’t enough. I watch in horrified fascination as the man blasts into her quickly and shudders a scant minute later. His buddy taps him on the shoulder and then the guy offers her to his friend, and number two takes his turn on the girl.

I really hope that’s not rape.

I don’t think it is, though. The women spill back into the room, full of smiles and head for the men. The tables turn into a sea of arms and entwined limbs, and more than one person is piled on in each group.

“Enjoying the view?” Aron asks, stroking my side. His fingers brush against my breast and I feel that hot shudder of need rip through me.

I just shake my head. “Goddamn it, Aron, does every party have to be a fucking orgy?”

Laughter rumbles through him. “I take it mortals in your world celebrate differently?”

“Uh, yeah, we usually just like beer.” I shake my head. “This is just fucked up.”

“Why?” he asks, and tips a finger under my chin to make me meet his gaze. “They are happy. They celebrate my arrival and hope for a blessing.”

“Oh, so you’re cool with this as long as they don’t touch your toys?” I retort. “Is that how we play?”

He arches an eyebrow at me in the same annoying way I normally do to him. “If they wish to fuck Markos or Yulenna, I do not care. They can fuck all of my soldiers at once for all I care. They are just not allowed to touch you.”

And just like that, my irritation vanishes, quickly replaced by hot lust. I remember his hand on my breast from earlier, the way he held on as if I belonged to him.

As if I were his personal property.

“But you’re allowed to touch me?” I ask, my voice a mere whispered tease.

He just gives me that lazy, confident smile that tells me everything I need to know. One hand strokes over my belly, and for a moment, I don’t care that we’re in a room full of people. I want him to push his hand under the opening in my skirt and touch me until I come.

Aron doesn’t, though. He just slides his hand to my breast, holding me and branding me as his possession, and turns to Lord Secuban. “You have won my approval for now. My party will be here for a few days before moving on. I expect supplies and for my servants to be treated with the utmost respect.”

“Of course!” Lord Secuban’s practically gushing with delight.

“My men will need new armor and weapons, and my women will need clothing.”

“You shall be given everything and anything you need, my great Lord of Storms,” Secuban declares, and there’s such shining excitement on his face that I can’t hate the guy or his weird people. He snaps his fingers and one of his chained slaves—the naked ones—comes forward and he pulls her into his lap, as if he can truly party now that Aron’s pleased.

I just shake my head and drink more wine. I think if there’s another party like this one, I might pull a Yulenna and stay upstairs, too. Then I frown, remembering how they were going to give Aron some lap candy.

Nah, maybe not. I need to come down and stake my claim, much as I’m not a fan of public orgies. I glance around. Yup, they’re all still fucking. At least the women look like they’re having a great time and don’t mind being railed by several guys at once. I guess if it’s normal for you to expect that, it doesn’t seem so weird.

Still weird to me, though.

I look for Markos, Solat and Vitar—they’re at the table closest to the door, and the expression on Markos’s face looks like he’s sucking on a lemon as a female gyrates in the lap of a man nearby. Solat has a girl in his arms, his face buried in her cleavage. Guess he’s right at home. Vitar’s tossing back wine and trying not to look as uncomfortable as he clearly feels.

I wonder if this world has such a thing as hazard pay, because these guys clearly deserve it. Well, not Solat. He’s having too good a time.