Summary: Kenna and Diavolos get into an argument. Set a few months after their wedding.
As soon as the messenger arrives in the throne room, Kenna knows he’s delivering yet another summons from Lykos. She’s lost track of how many times Zenobia has insisted Diavolos travel to Abanthus to deal with some matter or another, but Kenna’s grown tired of her incessant complaining.
They’re almost always trivial issues, like Adder refusing to set aside exorbitant funds for another ball, or a knight apparently insulting her authority, or the villagers refusing to dress only in Nevrakis colors on her every whim. Adder has sent them only one summons, full of colorful language and detailed threats of what she’ll do if they don’t get Zenobia out of her hair.
Diavolos is irritated and exhausted from traveling back and forth so much, and Kenna is growing increasingly frustrated about being away from him for weeks at a time. He’s only been back from Lykos for a week, and Kenna all but rips the message out of his hands when the messenger hands it to him.
“Now what?” she snaps, skimming over it. “Diavolos, the knights are refusing to allocate sufficient troops for my personal security at my upcoming birthday celebration. I require your assistance immediately.”
Diavolos groans, rubbing his temple. “I am starting to regret giving my sister any amount of control over Abanthus.”
“So am I,” Kenna says through gritted teeth.
The messenger twists his hands nervously. “Is there a reply, Your Majesties?”
Diavolos sighs. “Yes. Tell her – “
“No,” Kenna interrupts.
Diavolos frowns. “Kenna-“
“No,” she says again. “You are not going there again because Zenobia is having a fit over something so ridiculous.”
She turns back to the messenger and smiles politely. “The reply is ‘no’.”
The messenger nods and scurries out. Kenna can feel Diavolos’ irritation practically radiating off of him as she stands, handing him the message.
“I’ll be in our quarters,” she says shortly, all but stomping out of the throne room.
She nearly runs into Jackson, who takes one look at her face and says, “Is there anything I can assist with, Queen Kenna?”
“You could tell Adder to make good on her threats,” Kenna mutters.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty?”
She sighs. “Nothing, Jackson. Everything is fine. Thank you.”
Jackson nods, though he looks unconvinced, then continues on his way.
Diavolos nearly slams the door of the throne room open, and Kenna narrows her eyes at him as he storms over to her. He opens his mouth to speak, then realizes the number of people who have slowed down and are looking at them as they walk by. He forces a smile, then grabs Kenna’s hand and tugs her toward the stairs.
She yanks her hand free from his, scowling, but follows him to their quarters. This won’t be the first fight they’ve had about Zenobia and Abanthus, though she wishes it could be the last. Diavolos closes their door forcefully and latches it, then whirls around, his eyes dark and angry.
“You do remember we also rule Abanthus,” he says irritably.
Kenna rolls her eyes. “I haven’t forgotten. But the last I checked, Zenobia’s birthday wasn’t a crisis necessitating yet another weeks long trip there.”
“That’s not what this is about,” he growls, the frustration evident in his voice and his body language as he stands directly in front of her, her back pressed against the wall, his chest nearly touching hers.
He’s taller and stronger than her, but she’s far more stubborn most of the time, and she lifts her chin defiantly, glaring at him.
“This is about not letting her single-handedly destroy what I’ve done to repair the Nevrakis name.” Diavolos leans in, his breath hot against her ear. “I’d like to stop being referred to as ‘the Blood King’s Son’ at some point in my life.”
“Stop it,” Kenna says in a low voice.
He knows she hates it when he refers to himself as that. He’s so much more than Luther’s son. There are times, she knows, when he feels truly vulnerable about his lineage, and then there are times like now, when they’re mad at each other and he knows it gets a rise out of her.
Kenna shoves against his chest, and Diavolos smirks as he doesn’t even budge. “Stop what?”
“You know what.”
He raises an eyebrow as she pushes against him again, then plants his hands on the wall on either side of her. She’s effectively trapped, though she could get out of it easily enough if she wanted to. Kenna swallows hard at the rush of heat that spreads through her as he presses into her. Damn him.
Diavolos grins at her smugly as he moves his hands down to grip her hips and she whimpers unintentionally.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” she says stubbornly.
He presses his forehead against hers, their lips almost touching, pulling back just enough that she can’t kiss him when she leans forward. “You sure?” he asks.
Kenna yanks on his collar in frustration. “Shut up.”
She slams her lips onto his, gratified at the way he stands in stunned silence for a moment before he lifts her up easily, his mouth rough and demanding against hers. He grunts as she squeezes her legs around his waist and nips at his lower lip.
“Kenna,” Diavolos groans.
He walks them over to the bed, dropping her on to it and propping himself up over her, his hand yanking at her hair. He kisses her insistently, his weight pressing her pleasantly into the mattress.
She shivers as he kisses down her neck, then back up to her mouth, and slides his hand under her thigh. Kenna rocks against him instinctively, reaching for the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head.
“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbles as he bucks into her and kisses her more forcefully, tangling his tongue with hers and biting her lip just enough to make her jump.
She feels his lips spread in a smile against hers, then hears him say, “I know. I’m still mad at you too.”