by C. E. Olson
He feels her hum down to his toes and her arms go around his shoulders. “For my safety or yours?”
“Yours, Your Grace.” He ghosts his lips along the smooth column of her neck and hugs her close, giving in to the desire to feel her body against his instead of pulling away again. If dancing is the best way to do this without getting too entangled, then fine — he'll take it.
Their bodies move together as if they’ve done this a hundred times, and every time she pulls away and he twirls her around, he immediately misses feeling her pressed against him. At one point, she gives him her back, staring up at him over her shoulder as she grinds against him without a care in the world.
His attention never fully shifts from the faux Queen or her tribe, but his hands slide a little lower on Aine’s body with each song that plays. Just as he slips his fingers inside of her waistband, itching to touch the skin she teased him with, the drums stop.
Queen Oshae begins speaking to her tribe in a language Varis can’t understand but Aine leans back against him and translates her entire speech. She speaks of their ancestors, and how they would be ashamed of all the High Fae cowering behind stone walls instead of basking in nature where they belong. Aine’s voice never changes as she speaks, and her body never moves away from his until the speech is done. She meets his gaze then, her bottom lip between her teeth as she slips from his grasp and walks over to make herself another drink.
Amused, Varis simply watches. He knows how quickly this will go downhill if they're caught, but seeing the way Aine handles herself is interesting. She's got far more self-restraint than he gave her credit for. “Your Grace,” Varis calls to Oshae. “Is the dancing over? I’ve always wanted to dance with a queen.”
He can feel Aine’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his face and Oshae claps at the musician and takes his hand. “I could never deny such a handsome young man.”
“That's very sweet, Your Grace.” Varis bows slightly and kisses her hand, then pulls her close and uses just about every move he learned dancing with Aine, but it doesn't feel the same. Her body feels foreign against his, and he finds himself watching Aine more than his current partner.
“She’s very pretty,” Oshae says after following his gaze.
Varis flushes. “I'm sorry, Your Grace. I didn't mean to—” He huffs, knowing when he's caught. “Yes, she is. She's also infuriating.”
The Queen tosses her head back with a laugh. “They often are. She probably feels the same about you.”
Aine takes another man’s hand and lets him lead her to the dance floor, and Varis takes a half-step forward to intervene before he stops himself. “I deserve that,” he admits. “I started it.” He spins the false Queen and begins dancing with her again. “She's sort of my boss, though.”
“The tale gets better... and when did you fall in love?”
“Love?” The word takes him by surprise. He examines what he knows about it, which isn't much: can't stay away from them, would die for them, and if Reeve is any indication, there's usually an extremely dopey grin involved when looking at them. Varis’ own smile fades as he pulls his attention from Aine and back to Oshae. “We're not in love, despite all of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.”
“Hmm... could have fooled me.” She twirls around and when she steps back in, she leans in to whisper in his ear. “The man she’s dancing with has quite the reputation. I suggest you get her away from him and take our guest tent. I can tell she doesn’t have whiskey often.”
Varis bristles. “She’s more than capable of handling herself, I promise.” Yet the moment he sees the man’s hands sliding down Aine’s body, he's abandoning the false queen and interceding. “Your Queen wants you. Go,” he barks at the man, then tugs Aine toward the tent without offering any explanation at all.
He can feel her watching him again, but she doesn’t speak until they’re inside and she plops onto the pillows with a huff. Her cheeks are flushed from the liquor and she places her hands on her belly. “I haven’t had that much fun in ages. Have you?”
“I don't think so,” he says honestly. Varis is careful as he sits next to her not to get too comfortable since there's only one bed and he'll need to sleep on the floor, but a few minutes won't hurt. “Aren't you wondering why I pulled you away?”
“Yes,” she says plainly. “Tell me why.”
Suddenly, he feels like he's been trapped in a lie. “Um. Oshae told me to,” he mumbles. “Something about a reputation.”
Aine lays her arm next to his so they’re touching. “And how was your time with a queen?”
“I don't know. She wasn't my queen.” Varis trails his fingertips up Aine’s arm. “I'll let you know when we're done here.”
Aine sits up to see him better. “And who is your queen, Varis Kester?”
Before he can answer, one of the guards closest to the Queen calls from outside the tent. “Sorry to interrupt, but can you help us with the fires? We only leave one burning at night, and most of my help is drunk.”
“Be right there!” Varis sighs and cups Aine’s chin. “You're the only queen in this court I recognize, Your Grace. Don't forget that.”
His eyes linger on her lips for a moment before he stands to go help. Oshae gives him a sad look when she sees him fully clothed, but he doesn't stop to talk to her. By the time he's put out the rest of the fires and tended to the one they left burning, it's well into the night and Varis takes a lap around the perimeter of the camp until he spots Echo. He doesn't invite her in — just smiles when he sees Trystrel not far behind her. Knowing they're being well-guarded, he makes his way back to their tent, and all the things he'd walked out on.
Unfortunately, Aine is sleeping soundly, and while part of him wants to curl next to her and hold her until the sun forces them to move again, he doesn't. Instead, he drags a pillow and a single blanket to the ground next to her and settles in, wondering to himself how much longer they can go on like this before something changes.
Chapter Twelve
“Shhh... let a queen take care of you for a change,” Aine says as she drops to her knees before him.
Seeing her like this causes a shiver to travel all the way from his toes, and he watches her like she’s the only person in the entire world. When he feels her lips for the first time, he bites his tongue, trying to keep from making too much noise. He doesn’t remember why he needs to be quiet, nor where they are, but something deep down shushes him when he lets out a sinful noise.
Her hands reach up to slide down his abs and every inch of her feels better than anyone ever has before. So much better, in fact, that he finds himself nearing the edge of that cliff far too soon. “My Queen...” Varis whispers, wanting to praise the mouth that’s only frustrated him until this moment, and just as he’s about to tip over, something rips him from that glorious dream and tosses him right back into reality.
Aine is sitting up on the bed with the sun shining on her face from the opening of the tent, and the smile on her lips causes guilt to overtake him. “Good morning, Varis. Were you having a pleasant dream?”
She nods down at the risen blanket between his legs, and Varis groans as he lays back down and covers his face. “Yes, I was. Thank you for noticing, Your Grace. Dream You is a giver.”
“Am I?” He can hear her shuffle around the bed but he doesn’t dare move the blanket; he knows she’s wearing a smug grin. “Kind of you to think of me and not Oshae.”
“Oh, I don't think kindness had anything to do with it,” he admits. “Hope I didn't disturb you as much as whatever woke me up disturbed me.”
“Not at all. The noises you made were actually quite soothing to wake up to.”
Varis sighs, remembering exactly why he prefers Dream Aine to the real one. “Right. We should move on before someone does recognize you, or they catch on that I don't have half the grace of the Fair Folk. Sooner or later, your glamour won't be strong enough to fool them.”
“You’re right.” Aine begins packing up th
eir bags. “I’ll grab us some breakfast while you... well... unwind.”
She leaves before he can respond, and some defiant little part of him nearly ignores the hard mass between his legs just on principle. But if he’s learned anything recently, it's that principles are stupid, so he throws the blanket off and doesn't hesitate to slip right back into that dream state. His hand doesn't feel nearly as good as he remembers her mouth being, but reality is a fickle bitch like that sometimes. Varis groans, throwing his elbow over his mouth to muffle the sound as he squeezes and releases just to tease himself, but he knows the forest around them is too silent for it to have worked. Still, he stays as quiet as he can, letting out gaspy little breaths as he spills over his fingers and makes a mess of his tunic. The release does more for him than he thought, so he doesn't blame himself at all as he changes and carries his clothes to the stream just beyond their campsite.
When he returns to their tent, Aine is on the bed finishing up her breakfast, and Varis doesn’t miss the way her eyes travel down his frame.
“How did you sleep? Any interesting dreams I should know about?” Varis asks as he sits down to eat.
“Mhm,” she answers vaguely. “I think the whiskey helped. Did you want to talk about your dream, Varis?”
"Do you want to talk about my dream, Your Grace?”
“I want to get moving. Eat your fill, Hammer. We have a long road ahead of us.” Aine exits the tent with an expression that makes Varis want to reenact that dream until her smug smile disappears, but instead, he silently follows her.
It's harder than he anticipated to get away from Oshae and her followers, and Varis notices more than one of them giving them suspicious looks. “We need to go, Annie,” he mutters in her ear.
Aine simply curtsies and takes his arm to steer them away from the Fae tribe. “I forgot your fake name,” she whispers.
“So did I.” Varis waits until they're far out of earshot, then huffs. “That could've gone worse.”
“Perhaps. Why do you think they got suspicious, Varis?”
He rips off a bite of bread he pilfered before leaving and chews as he shrugs. “Probably because the sex noises happened after you left the tent. Aren't you people weirdly possessive about your mates? Tried to tell Oshae we weren't in love, but she didn't believe me.”
Aine tenses so visibly at his side that they stop walking entirely. He can’t tell what caused it — whether it was the implication of them being in love, or the word mate itself — but she hastily begins walking again like nothing ever happened. “Urm... they were strange folk. I imagine they had reasons beyond our understanding for that. Even mates are allowed to masturbate.”
“Good to know,” he says teasingly. “I'm sure yours will be very happy one day.” Varis finds himself curious about her mate. Curious, and maybe a little jealous, but he blames that on the dream. “I assume it's not Sontar, right? I wouldn't want to accidentally kill you by fulfilling my oath.”
Aine punches his arm playfully and makes a disgusted noise. “I’d want to die if that were the case.”
“Hmm.” Varis frowns slightly as he keeps moving, because his plan always has been — and still is — to finish the job Balian handed him once his oath to her is fulfilled. He's reminded of the butchers in Ostusen who tell their children not to name the pigs marked for slaughter. Once they're real to those children, their loss hurts. Will hers? Varis glances sideways at Aine and rubs his chest as he feels a pang of confirmation. Yes, her loss will hurt. But that shouldn't stop him from doing his job. “Hope you rested well, Your Grace. We’re only a few days out from the sea.”
“The sea.” Aine looks off into the distance, and when her face lights up, he can’t help but feel curious as to why, but his questions are answered when Echo approaches to rub on her leg. “Hello, there. Did you miss me?”
Aine pets the shadow cat’s head as Varis looks around for Trys. Unfortunately, his peryton is nowhere to be found, so he does his best to ignore both the Queen and the cat as he trudges forward. With any luck, he'll be rid of them both within a fortnight. “Does it count as fulfilling my oath if I send the shadow cat in to kill Sontar?”
“Absolutely not,” Aine responds all too quickly. “We can’t risk such a beautiful beast.”
He stops, turning and crossing his arms over his chest. “Really? That's how you want to play this?”
“I’m not playing anything, Varis Kester.” But her eyes drop down to his pecs and only a blind fool would miss the lust in her eyes. “Do you want me to tell you you’re a beautiful beast and pet your hair, too? You’re gonna have to bend down a little for me.”
As he walks toward her, he tells himself it's just to prove a point. That he doesn't want to touch her, he just wants to shut her up, to make her stop teasing and tormenting him every day. To prove he's better than even her jokes suggest. He tells himself it's that, and not the color of her eyes, the rings just around her pupils that aren't quite purple, but aren't quite anything else, either. At least, no color he's ever seen. He cups her chin and pretends. “I think it's time that you kneel for me, Your Grace. Not the other way around.”
“Is that what your dream was?” Aine asks, but her voice is thick and breathless. “Do you want to see how giving I can truly be?”
Varis runs his thumb over her bottom lip and shakes his head slightly. “You think I don't know you can dreamwalk? Don't act like you didn't know exactly what my dream was... or exactly when you intentionally woke me up.” He leans down slowly until they're so close he can nearly taste her, but he pauses. He pretends that he doesn't really want this badly enough to take her right here in the woods. “Why did you do that, Your Grace?”
“Seemed only fair we were both plagued with the same dream.”
Smirking, he ghosts his fingers down her torso, just enough to tease them both. “Oh? And did you touch yourself to it too, or were you hoping I'd do that for you?”
“Both.” Aine lifts up on her toes slightly and kisses him as she tentatively wraps her arms behind his head.
Whatever restraint Varis had is gone. He lifts her up, walking forward until he’s pressing her against a tree and deepens that kiss like he’ll never get enough. The world disappears as she wraps her legs around him and tugs on his hair, and she's so all-consuming that it feels like they’re moving in slow motion as their clothes fall to the ground. When he picks her up a second time, there’s nothing between them to stop him from sinking inside of her.
Varis isn’t a stranger to sex, and yet nothing and no one has ever made him feel like this before. It’s as if all is suddenly right in the world. There’s no war, no foreboding oaths that either of them need to fill, nothing but her and him finally becoming one. Aine’s moans are the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard, and in that moment, he makes a vow to always be the one to make her sound just like this.
The sight of her is even more breathtaking — hair matted, cheeks flushed, lust-blown pupils with a slack jaw — it’s intoxicating. For one measly moment, he allows himself to believe what Oshae was trying to say: maybe love between them is possible.
When the pull in his gut demands his attention, he kisses her, needing as much of her as he can get as they fall over that cliff together.
He doesn't have a clue how much time has passed, but his Queen looks and feels completely boneless in his arms. Varis lays her down on his discarded clothes, still not ready to leave the warmth of her body, but he takes in their surroundings as reality settles in. In their throes of passion, they missed Echo’s departure, but before Varis even has an opportunity to be thankful for the privacy, he spots the shadow cat off in the distance returning to them.
“That was—” the smile she wears is one he’s never seen before “—unequivocally amazing, Varis Kester.”
He smiles at the use of his full name. “I’m inclined to agree, Your Grace.”
As he kisses her again, they hear a stressed call from some sort of bird through the trees. Something about it has
Varis sitting up and grabbing her clothes.
“Varis?” she asks in a worried tone.
“Get dressed. That was either a pissed off mother or some sort of mating call. We need to be prepared for anything.” Varis cups her chin in his hand to place one last gentle kiss on her lips before he begins dressing as quickly as he can.
When Echo starts to gag to their left, Varis rolls his eyes. “Not now, cat. We’ll have to take another path if that call gets any closer.” As if the bird is answering him, it yells again, this time sounding much closer. “Shit.” The shadow cat coughs up what was bothering her, and when Varis sees the remains of a baby bird’s feathers, he knows exactly what’s happening. “Damn it, Echo! A baby?” Echo guiltily covers the corpse with some stray leaves, but it’s far too late, the damage is already done.
“What do we do?” Aine unsheathes her blade, staring intently in the direction of the mother bird. “Do we stay and fight?”
“Have you ever pissed off a chicken, Your Grace?” he asks as he grabs his axe. “I don't know how much time you spend around livestock or wildlife, but I can promise you, they're angrier beasts than I am.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, but there's no humor on her face. “You're scared of a chicken?”
“You would be too if you ever had to eat Laix’s cooking,” he mutters. As the trees and brush shift just behind Aine, Varis swears under his breath. “And no, Your Grace, I'm not scared of chickens. A turul, on the other hand, is a different story. Duck!”
Aine doesn't hesitate to drop down, allowing Varis just enough time to snatch his blade from his boot. Echo hisses loudly as the turul comes into view — with a wingspan of nearly fifty feet, it's much larger than Varis expected it to be. The dagger in his hand drops uselessly to the ground as he grips his axe again instead, and there's only one thought hammering around Varis’ skull like a war drum: don't let her die.