by A. K. Koonce
“That’s enough of the pleasant small talk. Either fuck her or give her back,” Krave says from behind us.
I lift in Ryke’s arms, and he watches me in the darkness as I ever-so-slowly guide his thickness against my sex. Inch by inch, I take my time gliding down his shaft, and without breath in my lungs, I can hear every hard-cutting inhale he takes.
It’s empowering sensuality.
My hips rock against his, and he meets every languid thrust I give. We cling to one other, breathing in the shaking breaths lingering between us as we steal away the sounds each of us gives up to one another. Sex with Ryke feels like being kissed by the sweet heavens while being fucked by the darkness of hell.
When I grind against the head of his cock before sliding down once more, he takes two big steps, and I’m slammed against a wall that rattles with picture frames. His pace turns lashing. Faster and faster, he drills into me. My nails sink into his skin just as sharp teeth drag over my throat, biting hard before sucking even harder.
The sensations climb together so high, I can’t contain them.
And they spiral out of control when he sinks in as far as he can go, filling me so deeply, emotions burst inside of me in trembling waves that pulse all through my body.
The sound of my shaking moans echo around the room, and it just fuels him on. Faster and faster and faster until finally, he stills.
His big shoulders are rigid beneath my touch as he groans harshly against my neck in a way that feels animalist and delicious.
Silence settles around us. He slides out of me as he kisses the spot just beneath my ear with tender care. It’s chaste, and it’s sweet, and it makes me wonder . . . if he feels the torrent of energy that always surrounds us when we’re like this.
Does he know?
I peer at him, but the shadows steal away the emotion on our faces.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t know, because he has too much magic in his veins. There’s already powerful energy in him at all times. It probably makes it impossible for him to feel the gentle tug of two hearts sealing together.
So he may never know what I know in this moment.
He’s my mate.
They all are.
21
Forever Yours
Aries
The euphoric bliss I had last night is nowhere to be found today.
“I’d say red roses,” my mother tells the castle florist. “Nathiale was pure like our kingdom’s roses.”
I close my eyes hard to stop myself from giving the world record for most epic eye roll. Pen arches a pale brow at me, but we both remain silent at the empty dinner table. Once again, three demons and a pink-feathered angel stand behind me. Zaviar hasn’t said a word to me all day, and it’s just one more thing I’ve tossed onto the anxiety pile that I’m carrying around this evening.
“Or maybe white. White symbolizes purity,” Mother whispers just as the florist starts to walk away with her long list my mother gave her.
The pretty demon woman looks up at my mother hesitantly. Her brows lift high enough to almost touch her black horns among her deep purple hair.
She wants to go. She needs to hurry off and get an entire party thrown together in the next two hours.
And here we sit trying to decide if red or white flowers best represent a destructive fae fucker like Nathiale Sinclaire.
I say absolutely nothing.
Mother will never take my word of advice. Even if she has been giving me more worried glances since I left the castle without telling anyone.
She may worry about me, but she still isn’t good at talking to me. Not after what I’ve done.
So I can only wait.
And wait.
And wait.
“Perhaps we’ll do both and honor him with as many roses as our kingdom possesses.” Pen suggests with a sweet smile on her lips.
The pale features on my mother’s face soften as she gazes at my cousin. “You’re right. We’ll do both.” She nods with a bit of finality, and I’m tempted to hug my quick-thinking cousin right on the spot.
But we have more important things to discuss.
“Why isn’t Gravier here?” The royal woman at the end of the table cuts her attention to me with the intense suspicion only a queen is capable of.
It’s only the three of us, my mates—plus Zav—and Nille.
“He’s with his healer but should arrive tonight in time for the memorial,” I say with a lift of my chin, embodying total confidence.
I hope.
“Good,” she says. She says it like she needs him. My mother’s the most powerful woman I know. She’s never needed my father for anything.
Except for this, it seems.
With the loss of her child, she’s not as strong. Or maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe it’s the loss of a child, at the hands of a child . . . And now she has to look that child dead in the face every fucking day and pretend it’s alright.
I can’t change what I did, but I can change the hell we’re all living in.
I can change the way we pretend.
That’s what we do here in these castle walls. We walk among all the bad, all the hate, all the torment. And pretend everything is completely fine.
That’s going to stop.
Tonight.
Soft violins drip sounds of sadness with every note they play. My gown is the same dark shade of ebony as my mother’s. The room is a sea of fae dressed in shadowy gray-and-black colors. It makes it easy for Sev and Isabella to blend in with them.
But I do spot them. Watching me from the corner at the back of the ballroom.
Portraits of my brother line the walls, with soft golden candlelight casting out the darkness around his image.
He’s asleep among the shadows is whispered over and over and over again. It’s a well wish they say to those mourning a loved one.
I hate it.
The enormous ballroom is overflowing with mourners. Fae I’ve never met before clasp my hand with tears in their eyes and remind me of what a “kind man” my brother was. He’s asleep among the shadows they say so many times, it feels like an eerie threat.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper when Zaviar brushes against my side.
It’s the first thing I’ve said to him all day.
And it wipes away the pained look on his face. His hand pushes over his heart, and his tone is unsteady when he speaks. “You’re strong. You can do this,” he whispers.
My palm lifts to him to ask him if he’s still hurting after my sister helped him, but he walks away once more.
“He’s always walking away,” I say beneath my breath.
“All the good ones do,” Someone says behind me.
My dress skims the ground as I turn, and I’m surprised to meet the dark kind eyes of my father’s advisor.
“Johnn,” I say slowly.
All the good ones do.
What does that mean?
Just how many people hold demonic secrets in this castle? My father loved a demon. I recently found out my grandmother did, too.
What about you, Johnn? Are you in love with a monster my father has declared beneath us?
“The crowd has asked about King Gravier,” Johnn says carefully.
I nod. He nods.
Neither of us say a treasonous word.
“Pen is going to greet them and give them an update on your father.” His shoulders stiffen in his black suit, and if I wasn’t certain of where he stands, I am now.
He’s asked Pen to lie to these people.
Because he and I are on the same side.
“Good,” I smile slowly, and I’m faintly aware of how close a demon is standing behind me.
“The man behind your throne, the one with the charred fingers and tattoos . . . he’s looking at me like he wants to kill me.” He takes a slow sip of his wine as tells me all of this in the most discreet way.
“Krave is a little . . . protective.” I smile as if it’s nothing,
but jealousy turns rather quickly for my incubus. One minute he’s laughing and making sex jokes, the next he’s eating all the happiness from the depths of your soul.
It happens.
I wave Johnn away with a smile before it can happen to my innocent advisor.
That false smile is still glued hard in place when my gaze spans to the small woman stepping up in front of the King’s podium just ahead of us.
“Good Evening,” Pen says solemnly. She’s graceful, and her eyes shine with kindness. Everyone looks to her as a hush seizes the room. They trust her. “King Gravier,” she clears her throat loudly before finding her tone, “King Gravier seems to have forgotten his son’s memorial tonight. I’ve sent a messenger out to bring him home to his people, though. I’m sure he’ll be with us shortly.”
Sir Timmons’ mouth falls open at that outright lie, but I ignore him. Partly because Waltry doesn’t appear very shocked. And partly because Johnn is staring hard at me. We all keep our composure and innocent appearances.
Murmurs fire through the watchful audience.
It’s a scatter of nervous questions and speculations:
“He forgot?”
“He forgot his own son’s memorial?”
“I heard he planned it. He requested this memorial. And now he’s forgotten?”
“Well, I hear he’s forgetting a lot of things these days.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from Old Headless Hyval, eh?”
“Calm down,” Pen says with a wave of her small hand.
“Calm down?” An elderly high fae asks with her blazing red wings fluttering. “Our King has forgotten us. Again. Forgotten his own children. This Kingdom needs guidance. Not a speaker!” The woman looks familiar, and it takes me a moment to remember her name from my childhood. She’s Waltry’s mate. I’m staring at her while her disgusted gaze holds on Pen for a long passing moment.
I let the time slip into the silence for several heartbeats before striding to Pen’s side.
“Lady Charlotte, I can assure you, the Kingdom is not without guidance.” I smooth the conversation and start to pull Pen away, taking a single step toward my mother, who sits without comment on all the chaos of her life.
“You have your mother’s features,” Lady Charlotte says, loud and clear. It brings a growing smile to my lips.
Because she’s right on time.
“You have her strength, too. A true Princess of Roses,” she calls out to me.
Yes. Yes, I am.
When the threads of my black gown sweep over the gleaming tile, the entire room is looking at me with big shining eyes. My chin tilts higher, my back straightening beneath their heavy attention.
This isn’t a memorial.
It never was.
It’s a revolution. The end of an era. And the beginning of a new fucking reign.
“Thank you,” I say with a touch of humble kindness.
My lips part to say the speech I’ve prepared. The one that announces me as more than just a Princess. But a Queen this lost Kingdom needs.
Too bad those words never come out.
A door bangs open with slamming anger.
Big boots thunder over the tile, and I peer back and meet blazing silver eyes.
Eyes just like mine.
Fuck.
“You had a memorial for my only son. Without. Me.” The King yells. The words boom over the fine wine glasses the guests hold and I note how many women just flinched from the sound of their King’s voice.
He storms toward me in three big steps, and I’m going to fire whoever the hell was supposed to take him to his little doctor’s checkup today.
“Father,” I whisper, searching for words and lies lost in my head.
“Your Highness, you planned the memorial,” Johnn says slowly but loudly enough for all to hear.
My head turns. As does every-fucking-one else’s.
“Wow,” Damien whispers from behind me.
I fucking agree.
Wow.
“I—” Father stammers, and it’s just enough time for Johnn to keep going.
“Everyone forgets sometimes, My King,” the young advisor says with a sympathetic smile that says a thousand words.
It starts those murmurs right back up.
As for King Gravier, his face is so fucking red, I swear it’s about to burst with how much raging blood is flowing through his veins.
He’s going to kill Johnn.
But you have to be King to give that kind of order.
“Father. Why don’t you give the announcement we’ve been discussing for our kingdom,” I tell him with a peaceful tone, but gods, is he turning redder? Is that even possible?
“Aries,” he warns on that growling tone, “I banished you once,” he says lowly.
I swallow hard. A warm hand slides over mine, and I don’t look back at the men I know are standing directly behind me.
“Darling, don’t talk about that right now,” a serene voice says.
Then her hand is on my shoulder. It’s a touch filled with memories I can’t explain. It’s love, and it’s comfort in one simple pat of the hand. That’s just the magic a mother has, I guess.
I just didn’t expect to ever feel it again.
“You promised Aries the crown, sweetheart,” Mother says.
“I did no such thing!” His entire body shakes with outrage.
Zaviar takes one step, and he stands just in front of me but not blocking the sight of my father’s blazing aggression from over the three thrones.
We’re momentarily distracted when my mother pulls the shining sword hanging just behind my father’s throne.
The crowning sword.
“I know. I know it’s hard to remember everything.” Even I’m stunned by my mother’s words. “Just—give her the crown, Gravier. You and I can live along the river. We can rest and relax. We can let the days pass us by.” She extends her small hands to offer my father the sword.
The anger on his face has turned to seething rage. A vein pulses at the center of his forehead.
He has to know this is the best option. The Shadow Guard will kill him. He’ll die by their hand. Or he can go fuck off and die in silence, with the peaceful waters of the Iris River lulling him to sleep each night.
Sometimes, when we do the best thing for someone, it’s still cruel. I don’t think he’s realized that until right now.
I take a slow stalking step closer. Zaviar’s hand slides down mine, but I walk on until I’m right in front of my father. His long silver hair touches mine as I glare up into his eyes, but I keep my obedient daughter smile pressed firmly in place as I whisper to him and him alone, “How does it feel to finally be on the banishing end of banishment, Daddy?”
And then he does snap.
His composure breaks right down the middle, like ancient glass in a hail storm.
Magic flies out of him in splinters of deep gray that slap into me and send me backward, falling from the platform and skittering over the ballroom floor.
My back hits hard, and my breath leaves fast. I stare up at the high arching ceiling, taking a moment for the gasps of the people surrounding me to fully take effect. It’s nothing but the sound of stunned shock.
It’s a nice charming little sound in this moment of uprising.
I spot my mother also fallen to the floor. The crowning sword lies at her side, and there’s a small scratch on her cheek, but she’s unharmed for the most part.
When I stand, I don’t expect to see what my wide eyes are taking in.
But there it is:
Krave’s glittering black fingers arch sharply as he throws the King’s enormous body against the wall just near the door without ever touching him. He pins the man there with nothing but dark demon magic.
The kind I’ve never seen.
“What is he?” A woman hisses at my side.
I have no fucking idea.
“Forgive me, My Former King, but,” Krave bows formally as he keeps his mystic
al power held in place, “if you ever touch our Queen like that again, I will rip each of your limbs off one by one, Your Highness.”
Zaviar’s arms are folded hard across his chest, and his brother’s stance mirrors his exactly. Even Ryke looks like he’s about to climb the wall just to murder the King.
Things . . . have gotten a bit off-track here.
“Everything’s fine,” I say calmly.
I have got to keep hold of the calm. It has to stay in place. For everyone’s sake.
“She’s not your Queen!” Father roars, lashing against the magic that binds him.
Krave’s hand twists just slightly, and sparkling black smoke wafts out, pressing toward the man held high above us. “Crown her,” Krave commands.
A choking cough shakes from my father’s broad chest, but he shakes his head hard as he gasps for a breath. The crowd shifts on their feet, and I can’t stand here quietly any longer.
“Krave, put him down,” I yell as several guards in shining uniforms start to close in on the demon.
“Call her your Queen,” Krave says so loudly, it drowns out my voice.
Another stern shake of the King’s head has a small wave of pent-up magic crashing out of the powerful incubus. It climbs high into the air, it picks up strength, it whirls violently with a sound of magic I’ve never heard before. It reaches the ceiling, causing the crowd to stumble back from the height of the ominous wave. It grows and grows and grows.
Before foreign slicing black light shoots through the room. It streams in on jagged blades and lands with a sinking thump.
Right into my father’s chest.
Screams and running footsteps sound through the room as deep crimson blood pools at the center of the King’s abdomen. Krave drops my father immediately. He hits with a resounding thump.
But Krave didn’t do this. Crashing panic fills the room as my gaze scans the area for the attacker.
Long black fuming hair and a sinister smile step into view.
“It’s midnight, sister,” Corva says with too much calm and too much happiness.
“No.” It’s the only word I can find in my mind, and it repeats over and over and over again.