NTR: King gets Cucked-Chapter 4: The Viceroy

Zyran entered the council chamber, the heavy oak doors creaking as they closed behind him. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of wall sconces casting elongated shadows across the cold stone walls. A large, circular table of dark mahogany sat at the center of the room, lined with high-backed chairs that seemed more like thrones. Two men were already seated — Lord Alex and Viceroy Durin the Ironhelm.

Zyran's sharp blue eyes narrowed at the sight of Durin. He had met the man many times when he visited Drakestone as a boy, and each encounter left him with a lingering distaste. Durin was the General who had crushed Draconia's army and personally captured King Dylan. Even as a child, Zyran could sense the cruel pleasure in Durin's voice when he spoke of his father's defeat. The thinly veiled amusement in his golden eyes had never faded.

Durin's nickname, Ironhelm, came not only from his fearsome reputation in battle but also from his massive frame. He was so large that his armor had to be custom-forged, the steel molded to fit his broad shoulders and muscled chest. The man was a walking fortress. His dark skin bore golden rune-like tattoos that glowed faintly beneath the torchlight — marks of an ancient race long forgotten by most, but not by Emperor Damon.

Durin's origins were steeped in mystery. He had been born in Moorth, a distant land swallowed by deserts and war. Captured as a child and sold into slavery, Durin's fate would have been sealed had Emperor Damon not taken an interest in him. Damon saw the promise in the boy's golden eyes and the strange markings that seemed to pulse beneath his skin. He purchased the boy and trained him personally. Durin's rise through the imperial ranks was meteoric. By the time he was seventeen, he had already led several victorious campaigns. After Draconia fell and was left without a ruler, Damon rewarded his most trusted general by making him Viceroy of Draconia.

Durin and Alex stood and offered a shallow bow, the bare minimum of respect required toward a monarch. Zyran's lips thinned, but he remained composed, stepping forward as Alex pulled out a chair for him. Zyran sat down without acknowledging the insult, his expression carefully controlled.

Durin, meanwhile, sat on the chair at the head of the table — a seat that rightfully belonged to Zyran. Alex positioned himself at Durin's right side, the two men clearly aligned.

Zyran knew that as a vassal king under Grimgaard's rule, he had no real authority over Durin. The Viceroy governed in the Emperor's name — Zyran's crown was little more than decoration. He had no choice but to endure the humiliation for the sake of his kingdom... and his family.

Durin's golden eyes gleamed beneath his thick brow. A smirk curled his lips. "Have you prepared what you are going to say at your coronation?" he asked lazily, his tone bordering on mockery.

"I have," Zyran replied evenly. "I don't want my subjects to think I'm some spoiled brat. Also, I intend to become more involved with the kingdom's affairs."

"All in due time, Your Highness," Alex said smoothly, though the slight smile on his lips suggested otherwise.

Durin chuckled darkly. "Indeed... after all, this kingdom is still under Grimgaard's protection. It would be dangerous to make any sudden moves without consulting the Empire first."

Zyran's jaw tightened. "Of course," he replied coolly.

Durin leaned back in his chair, his massive hands steepling beneath his chin. "It's good that you understand your place. You've been raised well — though I suppose credit for that belongs to Emperor Damon."

Zyran's grip on the arms of his chair tightened.

"I mean," Durin continued, his smirk widening, "it's not often that a king's widow finds herself warming the Emperor's bed. Queen Audra adapted well to her new role."

Zyran's fists curled beneath the table. A flash of white-hot anger surged through him. His mother — his father's queen — reduced to a concubine. Durin's words cut deep, but Zyran forced himself to remain composed. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.

"That's enough," Zyran said quietly. His voice was calm, but his knuckles were bone-white.

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Durin smiled faintly. "As you wish, Your Highness."

The conversation shifted toward logistics — trade routes, military patrols, taxation — all of it under Durin and Alex's control. Zyran responded passively, agreeing to their decisions without resistance. He knew he had no real say in these matters — not yet.

After what felt like an eternity, the meeting ended. Zyran stood first and left the room without another word. As the heavy doors shut behind him, he heard the low sound of laughter echoing through the chamber.

Zyran's fists clenched at his sides as he strode down the hallway. His heart hammered painfully in his chest.

Endure.

For the sake of Althea... for Nyra... for Drucila.

His tension eased slightly at the thought of his wives. Althea's playful teasing, Nyra's quiet affection — they were his light in this dark place. He would endure this humiliation for them.

Zyran strode through the dimly lit corridors of the residential wing, his thoughts lingering on Althea. Reaching her chamber, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors with quiet resolve.

Althea was curled up on a plush chair by the fire, a book resting on her lap. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders in soft waves. Her dress had slipped down, exposing one creamy shoulder and the upper curve of her full breast. A thin line of drool shimmered on her lower lip as her chest rose and fell steadily.

Zyran's lips curled into a smile. "The journey must have taken quite a toll on you," he murmured as he stepped toward her.

Althea stirred slightly as he gently lifted her into his arms. She blinked, her hazel eyes still dazed with sleep.

"Mmm... I didn't realize you'd arrived," she whispered, her arms wrapping around his neck. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and Zyran's cock twitched painfully beneath his trousers.

Althea's eyes glinted mischievously as she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "Shall I help you relax?"

Zyran swallowed hard, his grip on her tightening. He brushed his lips over her temple. "We have all the time in the world for that... but we should rest now. Tomorrow is a big day."

Althea sighed dramatically but smiled against his neck. Zyran lowered her onto the bed, brushing her golden hair back from her face before placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

As he pulled away, her hazel eyes studied his face.

"Are you worried?" she whispered.

Zyran's smile faded. "A little."

"You're not alone," Althea said softly.

As he slipped beneath the sheets, Althea curled against his chest, her soft breath warming his neck. Zyran wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting on the curve of her hip.

For the first time that night, Zyran's tense thoughts began to fade. Tomorrow would be difficult — the weight of the crown heavier than ever. But for now, in this quiet moment, he allowed himself to breathe.