The Queen's Line (Inheritance of Hunger, #1)

by Kathryn Moon

The air shimmered warmly around me, my heart racing with the passion provided from the page, my core hot and clenching.

The peace of my favorite place in the castle—the sight of the gardens

Why could I feel heat and desire and the power of the queen's line—our legendary and potent Hunger—while reading a book, but never when faced with a man in real life?

I had seen plenty of men and their cocks in my twenty-three years, and I wasn't convinced that buck naked was a man's best presentation.

He was terribly tall, much too tall for me, surely? And he did remind me a bit of the way men were described in the novels I loved so dearly. Ruggedly handsome with a dimpled chin and curling dark hair falling over his brow. He had thick, defined muscles and more dark hair curling over his chest and down his thighs. At least he was wearing underwear. "Drop those, let us see it," Grandmother barked at him.

Can't fit, I thought, blinking at the over-generous appendage. "Oh yes, that's very nice," Grandmother murmured. "Fluff it up for us a bit, won't you?"

I blushed as a soft unfurling of warmth built in my center. If he was Henry Fredericks, then yes, I found him very pleasing. But he wasn't the charming and humble duke to be. He was a stranger.

"No, no, he's too old," Grandmother said, shaking her head as a tall, broad man stepped forward at my call, his movements rigid. "He isn't," I said, eyeing the man and noting the surprised twitch of his head. He had a wolfish look to him, and his features were classical and cool. There was silver in his hair, but I liked it and he reminded me of the noble Captain Beauregard, who'd rescued a young woman from pirates and had tenderly refused to deflower her until their wedding night.

The older man's eyes fastened to mine and there was ferocity in his stare, but I wasn't sure it was of a passionate nature. Perhaps he was offended I would not let him prove himself? After a pause that left me nearly squirming in my seat,

My grandmother's favorite advisor was waiting for me by the door, a hawkish woman named Isolde, who I'd once caught sucking the cock of one of my mother's harem and who'd seemed mildly nervous around me ever since.

So good looks weren't everything then.

and I wondered if I could break my own promise to please Grandmother and simply keep him for aesthetics. He was beautiful in an artful way. His shoulders were strikingly broad, and he remained bare-chested at the table, revealing an exquisite collection of tattoos on his tan body, done as carefully as paintings. His hair was sleek and black, and he was obviously from the Menarry Isles, with dark eyes and full lips. "Prince Thao of the Menarry Isles, rank three." Three was good, nice and middle of the range. He might be long, or girthy, or average. Nothing too much or too little. An everyday cock by my grandmother's reporting.

He probably wasn't expecting to become my Chosen, but I found his nervousness called to me, in sympathy if nothing else.

"This is our ambassador to the Mennary Isles, Wendell Pope. He's a…" Isolde cleared her throat, cheeks flushing. "He's a nine, and he…prolonged for almost an hour."

"We didn't have time to test him again," Isolde whispered. Wendell Pope's cheeks flushed, and so did Prince Thao's.

For the most part, the commoners favored much better by the statistics,

My rakish look-a-like from the great hall was named Cosmo Pianetta, and he ignored the rules in favor of looking back at me. "A two at thirty minutes and refreshed in about that much," Isolde said, and then added to me, "But they noted that he watched the others as he did it." I opened my mouth to ask—had the other men inspired him, or was he only prone to staring—and

"Aric Martin, minor magician, an eight. He refused to perform,"

"He will stay," I said, finding his rudeness a strange relief in this situation.

Fuck decorum.

"And would Your Highness appreciate any refreshment for herself?" he asked in a low and melodious tone. Behind him, Prince Thao bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes darting nervously between us.

"I'm an artist, Your Highness. Sculpture mainly," Cosmo said.

He looked even more like a romantic hero from a story up close, the dimple on his chin growing deeper with his smile and a soft dark curl falling over his brow. "Owen Dunne, Your Highness," he said, tone warm and soothing, head bowing respectfully. "I…I was a soldier in the army, and now I have a few jobs around Rumsbrooke in the north. I like working in the army stables best," he said.

big and gentle Owen Dunne.

Owen's lips formed an exquisite smile, blue eyes clear and calming. "I absolutely agree. Aric, you said as much on the trip down here, didn't you?" Aric grunted by the fire, and when I turned to look at him again, his head whipped toward the flames as if he'd been observing me while I wasn't looking. "Aric owns a lively tavern in Rumsbrooke," Cosmo supplied slowly. "I used to sneak in there when I was a lad." "No one sneaks around me, Pianetta," Aric growled, gray eyes

gentle pair of hands

Cosmo nuzzled my bare skin. He smelled nice, a little sweet and pleasantly fresh, and also a bit like plaster,

Aric straightened. I only came to his chin, and he was broad right down to his hips—not as much as Owen, but there was something even more menacing about the man in front of me.

"I will not." I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut as he continued, "Neither will any of the others. And if you have it in mind to try your luck with the men outside, we'll bar the door."

Aric bundled the little princess into his arms as she beat weak fists against his chest and cried with all the force of a new widow.

"Shhhh," Aric soothed, gathering the young woman up and settling himself comfortably against the high pile of pillows in her massive throne of a bed. Princess Bryony only wept louder for all his soothing, but she clung to him, fingers fisted in his shirt as he stroked her back and her hair.

She was, by far, the softest thing or person I'd ever touched in my entire life, and if it weren't for the clear memory of her own panic as she pulled away, I would've reached for her again.

Women of the queen's line have so few children,

Prince Thao cleared his throat. "Certainly to be Chosen for your—the Hunger's use is a great honor," he said slowly and carefully. "But Kimmery's wealth is largely to do with your exports from the northern territory…"

as she turned green eyes to me.

Aric and Cosmo frowned at one another, and I glared at them both. "What? What does that look mean?" I asked. "We were both…present for Camellia's second choosing. She…" Cosmo trailed off, and Aric continued. "She's a beast possessed, is what she is. Either by the Hunger or her own whims, who knows. But if the queen wants to keep the Hunger, she has the perfect daughter in the younger of the two. Pope is right. They'll toss that little flower right out onto the doorstep to greet her starving people," Aric finished, his eyes drifting back to the closed door, a line furrowing on his brow.

In my bed, Owen and Cosmo lay sleeping, sprawled out in the sheets, mismatched curls over their faces.

Wendell, who was a little taller than the prince,

"Ambassador Pope is my lover," Thao said,

He and Wendell exchanged a soft, appreciative smile between them, and my heart swelled. I might not feel a passion for the men individually, but I did have a wistful kind of longing for what they shared. And a desire to protect it.

I didn't find shame in public sex. My family had a history of performing it freely. But there was something in Camellia's habit of it that seemed cruelly focused on mocking me.

her feet in the lap of one of her Chosen, who smiled warmly at me

"Do you know…I think she might be Michael's," my mother said, and it took me a moment to realize she was speaking to her Chosen and not to me. "He has those eyes too." The man answered her with a docile hum as my mother stared absently up at me.

although they smell of—of horse." I almost wanted to smile. That would be Owen, who seemed unrefined but sweet and patient. Horses would like that, and I had been grateful for it the night before too.

Cosmo was there too, lounging on the floor in the sun like a cat, with my writing desk on his lap and what looked like art sketches scribbled over my best stationary.

A rough hand found mine on the bed, Owen's eyes dropping shyly. I wondered how he was with other women. Still so shy and sweet? It tugged at me strangely, a not unfamiliar feeling, but an unexpected one I would examine later.

Something was definitely shifting. Not an urge to pin Owen down and ride him like my sister would've done but…something. It was every bit as sweet and shy as the massive man in front of me, but it was welcome to continue.

Owen took up the rest of the bench, his head leaning against the top of the carriage by the window, mouth hanging open and letting out soft little sighs of sleep.

Owen jumping out, all too eager to stretch his long legs…and his broad back, and his muscular arms, and rolling his head on his dense shoulders.

In books, a hero was always described with 'heat in his gaze,' but I couldn't tell if that was what was in Aric's eyes. It was certainly…focused, and it brought goosebumps out all over me and made my breasts feel both heavy and tight.