Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1589  Curious Elf

”Did he escape?”

The question came out flat.

Myrasynʼs ears perked. ”The Primordial Villain?” She tilted her head. ”Yes. After the earth swallowed him, he was not seen again… At least, not until I was hauled off. My sister was really furious. Ragnar...” A delicate pause. ”Ragnar was beyond furious. I believe the word is apoplectic.”

The corner of Black Fangʼs mouth shifted. Barely visible in the dim light, and it lasted less than a second.

ʼI burdened you, sister.ʼ

The thought passed and was gone.

”Youʼre happy.” Myrasynʼs eyes went wide and her ears shot straight up. ”Youʼre chained to a wall, your own poison is eating you alive, you have a slave collar on your neck, and youʼre experiencing positive emotions.”

Black Fangʼs expression turned even flatter than before.

”Are you a masochist?” Myrasyn leaned forward as far as the chains allowed. ”Iʼve heard about this. Itʼs supposedly a sexual phenomenon where women derive pleasure from pain and suffering. Iʼve read about it in several forbidden texts but I confess I never quite understood the appeal.” Her eyes were bright and probing. ”Can you explain it to me?”

”Have you considered killing yourself?”

Myrasynʼs eyes widened as she yelped, tone scandalous, ”Wait, is that how it works?!”

”…” Black Fang turned her head and looked at the elven queen for a long, silent moment.

The chatter died. Myrasyn held the stare, and whatever she found in those purple eyes was full of judgment and disbelief. ”Youʼre a four thousand year old sovereign.”

”Ah!” Myrasynʼs eyes sparkled. ”Youʼre asking why I donʼt behave like a woman of my standing and history should!”

Black Fang did not respond.

Myrasyn revealed it nonetheless.

She lowered a hand to tap her temple. The chains caught her wrist one inch into the motion. She frowned, again, then shook her head side to side.

Nothing fell off.

”No crown.” She said it lightly. ”Iʼm no longer a sovereign of anything, and Iʼd wager my dear sister is busy rewriting history as we speak.”

”You were betrayed by your sister hours ago.”

The words that left her mouth were but a cold observation; however, the underlying judgment was clear to the elf.

ʼSo why are you this damned happy?ʼ

The levity present in the room vanished instantly.

Myrasynʼs eyes went still. The warmth drained, turning hard. Finally, Black Fang saw the queen beneath the smiles and the chatter.

”Yes,” Myrasyn said quietly. ”Aelindra, my treacherous elder sister whom I trusted with my life, backstabbed and collared me. Ragnar, my co-ruler, conspired against me. The council betrayed me as well.”

The dungeon was silent.

”Worry not, Black Fang. I have not gone senile, nor am I fine with what has been done to me.”

The elf who ruled over the elven race for thousands of years spoke with utmost conviction. ”I will have my crown back. Aelindra, Ragnar, and all of their conspirators will answer for their treachery.”

*Step* *Step* *Step*

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Heavy boots and lighter ones, accompanied by the faint clink of armor that didnʼt sit right on the body wearing it.

A chuckle preceded them. Low, feminine, and utterly without warmth.

The heavy door swung open.

Aelindra stepped through first. Her black hair was pulled back tight and her purple eyes immediately found Myrasynʼs.

”Have your crown back?” she sneered. ”Iʼd love to hear how.”

Ragnar came through behind her.

Black Fangʼs eyes narrowed.

The dwarven king was wrapped in so many bandages that more of him was linen than skin. His left eye was gone, the socket packed and bound beneath layers of cloth that had already yellowed with seepage. His neck, his arms, his torso, every exposed edge of him was either wrapped or stitched or held together with alchemical paste that gave off a faint chemical smell. His legs moved stiffly beneath fresh greaves that had been strapped over the dressings, and every step produced a sound from his throat that he swallowed before it became audible.

He looked like a corpse that had been reassembled by someone working from memory.

Behind them both, a third figure came. Short, even by dwarven standards. Wire-rimmed spectacles sat on a broad nose above a braided beard threaded with silver tools. He carried no weapon but a case.

Durnok, the man whoʼd built the collars humming against their throats.

Myrasyn looked at the three of them the way a hostess might assess guests whoʼd arrived underdressed.

”My, my.” Her eyes traveled from Aelindra over to Ragnarʼs bandaged wreck of a body and lingered on the seeping socket. ”You both look terrible.” Her ears flattened. ”But my heart senses a far greater loss. Tell me, sister. How many of our people died today for your greed? How many of our people did you sacrifice so you could pull out of that battle?”

”You have no people anymore.”

At that, Myrasyn burst into dark chuckling. ”Is that so…? Iʼm still the one the people have chosen, though?”

Aelindraʼs expression turned from mocking to spiteful as she crossed the distance in one stride and struck her younger sister across the face.

Myrasynʼs head snapped sideways. Blood welled from a split in her lower lip. She stayed there for a moment, cheek turned, then looked back at her sister with the red running down her chin and smiled.

”You can hit me all you want.” Her voice was light, almost musical. ”I will never give you what you want.”

And she meant it.

Elven succession law was older than any living elf, codified in the earliest days of the Grand Elven Alliance, the government that preceded the Alliance of Elvardia, where the two races joined forces due to necessity.

Even today, the Grand Elven Allianceʼs succession laws were in place, with the only difference that they had a co-ruler from the dwarves, sharing a joint council for decisions of state.

But as far as the succession of the queen of the elven people was concerned, nothing had changed in ages.

The successionʼs rules were created by the first queens who built the nation from warring clans. The law was simple and absolute: a sitting queen could name her successor. If she did, a majority vote by the council - made up of a handful of officials already supporting Aelindra for one reason or another - confirmed the appointment, and power transferred cleanly.

But if no successor was named, the throne opened to contest and the council could do nothing about it.

Every noble elf of eligible bloodline could make their case before the populace. The process was long, public, and democratic in a way that no backroom dealing could control. Trials of leadership, debates before the noble houses, votes from the broader elven citizenry. The most worthy would rise, chosen on merit and popularity, and no amount of bribery could guarantee the outcome.

Myrasynʼs mother, the previous queen, had believed in this path absolutely. Despite having two daughters, she had refused to name either one. Let the strongest rise on merit. Let the subjects decide.

Myrasyn had risen. Sheʼd won the contests, earned the popular vote, and taken the crown through the very process her mother had championed. Aelindra had lost. Sheʼd accepted the role of royal guard commander and trusted second, but the sting of that loss had never healed.

And Myrasyn, inheriting her motherʼs philosophy, had never named a successor of her own. The throne after her would be decided the same way: by the people.

This was Aelindraʼs problem. If Myrasyn died without naming anyone, open contest triggered. Aelindra was a military leader who had built her conspiracy through bribery and blackmail, not through love. She had lost the popular contest once already. She would lose it again.

But if Myrasyn named her, the opinion of the nobility wouldnʼt be asked - only the council, a small group of officials, would get to vote. Clean, legal, and permanent.

That was why the collar sat on Myrasynʼs throat instead of a blade. Aelindra couldnʼt let her die, needing her sisterʼs mouth to say the words.

”Name me,” Aelindra hissed. ”Name me and this ends.”

”I refuse.”

Aelindraʼs fist came down again. And again.

Myrasyn laughed through it.

”Harder, sister. Kill me and youʼll never get to taste rulership, as is right. You donʼt deserve it.”

Aelindra drew back for another strike, her composure fracturing.

”Enough.”

06:46

Ragnarʼs voice cut through the room. He signaled Aelindra to step back with a bandaged hand.

Aelindra stopped and stepped back, fist still trembling at her side.

Myrasynʼs smile widened.

”You want to be queen of all elves,” she said softly, ”but you heel at the dwarven kingʼs command.” A laugh full of mockery left her lips before she decreed, ”As the anomaly - whom you had so foolishly betrayed - stated: pathetic!”

Aelindraʼs hands trembled at her sides.

Ragnar looked at the two prisoners for a long moment. His one remaining eye moved from Myrasyn to Black Fang and back again, studying them.

Then he spoke.

”This resistance is pointless. You will give in soon enough and your freedom will be forfeit.” His tone was measured, almost conversational. ”So let us make a deal.”

He clasped his bandaged hands behind his back. The motion cost him visibly, a stitch pulling somewhere beneath the linen, but his voice stayed even.

”I will offer you both clauses in your slave contracts. Comfortable clauses. Protection from abuse. A monthly allowance. A mansion, quiet and safe, where you can live out your days without hardship.” His eye settled on Myrasyn. ”All you need to do is name Aelindra as your successor.” The eye moved to Black Fang. ”And all you need to do is answer my questions.”

Myrasyn giggled.

The sound was so inappropriate for the setting that even Durnok looked up from his collar inspection.

”Live a collared life like a bird in a gilded cage,” she mused, ears twitching, ”as a reward for betraying the trust of the elven people who voted for me?” She beamed. ”No thank you. Once again, I refuse~”

Black Fang didnʼt even bother to respond. She hadnʼt looked at Ragnar once since heʼd entered the cell. Her eyes were closed, her breathing measured, every thread of concentration pulled inward where the venom chased the collarʼs pulses through her channels. The room and everyone in it, irrelevant.

Ragnar watched them both for a long, silent moment.

”I see.”

His expression darkened.

Ragnar took a step toward Black Fang.