“Excuse Me—” Lia began, but I ignored her, speaking over her to Lady Calla, the operational first lady-in-waiting now that Tertulyn was gone, if not the titular one.
“Her Highness will summon you when she’s ready,” I said as I’d order my soldiers, and I pointed at the door.
The ladies hustled out with gratifying speed—enough that I didn’t mind that they checked for Lia’s impatient nod first—and I followed, locking the door behind them.
“Conrí, if you wanted to speak privately with Me, then—” Her eyes got big in a real reaction, not a manufactured one, as I advanced on her, and her indignant reprimand ended on a squeak when I picked her up by the waist and sat her on one of the pretty couches. Pulling up a chair, I sat across from her.
“Do it again,” I instructed.
She gaped at me, and I might’ve enjoyed taking her so thoroughly off guard if the painful need hadn’t been riding me so hard. So far, my plan was going exactly as I’d plotted all that long day.
“Con,” Lia said in a coolly placating tone. “I don’t know what—”
“Do. It. Again.” I spaced out the words so I wouldn’t growl them too much, but it didn’t work. And repeating myself hadn’t made her understand. “What you did in the carriage.” I gestured at her skirts, motioning for her to lift them.
Her lips parted, eyes softening from snapping anger, arousal taking its place. “Why should I?” she sniffed haughtily, not fooling me for a moment.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll do it for you,” I promised darkly. Oh yeah, that wiped the superior smirk off her pink lips.
Her breasts rose with the breath she caught. Keeping her gaze on me, she reached down and lifted the shifting mass of lace and ruffles, spreading her thighs as she did. The way she looked, her swelling sex so carnal in that frame of pretty feminine floof … My cock shouldn’t have been able to get any harder, but it sure felt like it. I flexed my hands, finding that I was the one floundering, no longer sure I could control myself.
“Well, Conrí?” she purred, widening her thighs, her pointed heels lifting her knees. She had her face composed again, all pink and blue and winking jewels, the crown perched daintily on her elegant head. “What are you going to do about it?”
With a snarl, I launched myself at her, loving the way she gasped, a mewling sound of surrender as I tore away that bit of lace and silk and put my mouth on her. She tasted of flowers and the way broken leaves smell, somehow sweet and green at once, and I lifted her slim hips, holding her there while I fed on her.
She shuddered into a climax, sobbing my name and other words, but I didn’t pause. Thrusting fingers inside her hot passage, I stroked those quivering muscles as I nipped at her bud of pleasure, then licked in long strokes, driving her up and shredding her composure again and again. Her nails dug into the back of my neck, holding me in a cage of them, and I fought back by biting the soft flesh of the inside of her thigh. She let me go and I rewarded her with a kiss there, and then on her slick woman’s folds again, but softly, easing off, teasing and titillating her sensitive flesh until she begged me with little inarticulate cries, thrashing in my grip. As much as I’d let her.
When she was desperate to climax again, I let her go. But only long enough to release my cock. She watched me with hot eyes, and with great satisfaction I saw they’d reverted. Sapphire and emerald. A sure sign I’d stripped away her icy reserve and clever masks. I wanted to tell her not to wall me out again, but if this was the only way I could reach her, then so be it. I picked her up and she fastened her mouth on mine, wrapping arms and legs around me like a wild thing, her dress bunching between us. “You wear too many clothes,” I muttered in frustration.
“True,” she panted, writhing. “Let’s change that.”
“Just let me—”
“In Me, now,” she ordered and bit my lip, hard.
All those plans I’d made fled my brain. “The dress…”
“Fuck the dress,” she growled, grinding her hips against me as best she could.
I set her on a table, fighting my way through the floof. With a savage curse, I pulled my knife and started slicing. She laughed hysterically, then threw her head back on a strangled scream when I found my way to her, slamming myself home. It staggered me for a moment, how right that felt. Home. A feeling I thought I’d lost forever.
“Con, My wolf, please…” she moaned, bringing me back to my senses.
Bracing myself, I thrust into her, losing all thoughts, all sense of anything else, only needing her, being in her. She urged me on, those bicolored eyes glowing as if with their own light.
When the orgasm crashed over me, my vision went black, stars sparking through me and draining all of myself into her. In its place, her essence, vital and magical, flowed into my being. And I gave myself into her keeping.
* * *
Sometime later, she laughed in my ear, husky and amused. I realized I’d collapsed on her, still standing with my pants around my ankles—and surrounded by shreds of her ruined gown. With effort, I levered up, but she held on, pressing a kiss to my ear and then biting it so I hissed.
When she released me, draping her arms over her head, she watched me from slitted eyes as I pulled up my pants. She stayed as she was, legs splayed in wanton disarray, languid, smiling, her makeup such a smudged mess I knew I must have it all over me. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I noted a big smear of pink, a jewel sticking to it.
“What brought that on?” she inquired, sitting up and surveying the damage. It looked like we’d had a brawl.
“You shouldn’t tease me.”
“Oh, warrior man of Mine,” she replied in a sultry voice, “if that demonstration was meant to dissuade Me from teasing you in the future, you’re going about it all wrong.”
In the future. That phrase arrested me in the midst of helping her down from the table. Would there be much of that? This journey to Cradysica had set events into motion. When we left this place—if we both left it alive—we were unlikely to leave it together. Had that driven some of my desperate hunger for her, the clawing need to bury myself in her?
“What’s wrong?” She sharpened, losing all the languid sultriness. “Why do you look like that?”
I gestured at the shambles of her gown. “Sorry about your dress.”
She regarded me a moment longer, assessing. Then held up her arms. “You might as well finish cutting Me out of it. Then you can summon My ladies to commence repairs to My appearance.”
Taking up the blade I’d dropped, I motioned for her to turn, then sliced the fabric at her back. I’d had some idea of having my way with her under all those skirts without disrupting the rest of her. No such luck there. When she faced me again, standing naked in a pile of foaming cloth, still in the wig and crown, her eyes showed her wild self still and a spray of flowers gleamed through her skin over one shoulder. Marks from my rough hands showed on her, too.
“I should get dressed for dinner,” she said gently, like you might talk to a wild animal you were afraid of spooking.
“What will your ladies think?” I gestured at the mess I’d made of her, the gown, hell—the room. With the grinding need backed off, I wondered what the hell I’d been thinking.
“I’m pretty sure they know we have sex,” she replied with an arch expression.
“Your eyes are two colors,” I said.
She narrowed those eyes, then lowered her lids and opened them again. They were back to their covert shades.
“That did it,” I told her, and went to summon her ladies. Then I turned back. “Lia?”
She was unpinning her crown, still unselfconsciously naked in the ruin of it all, and she paused, giving me her full attention, a question in the line of her body.
“What you asked me about in the carriage? In case I didn’t make it clear: I don’t want anyone else in our bed,” I said.
Smiling a little, she nodded in acknowledgment.
“Or anywhere else,” I thought I sh
ould add, since we hadn’t made it to a bed the last couple of times. “I don’t want anyone but you.”
“You could have just said,” she pointed out coolly, but her smile was warm.
“Yeah. Me and words, you know. Not so much.”
“You’re eloquent enough in your own way,” she corrected, setting the crown aside. “Anything else?”
Might as well say it. Who knew how much time we had, but … “Would you promise me the same?” It came out more gruff than I’d expected.
She strolled over to me, still in the wig, but nothing else, besides the orchid ring that swayed with the same silky grace that she did. Laying her palms on my chest, she rose on tiptoes to kiss me. I slid my hands down her back and over that tiny, gorgeous ass, marveling that I had the gift of a woman like this. Some kind of reward I didn’t deserve to savor before I died.
Or something for the gods to rip away as a last torture before they killed me.
“Yes,” she whispered. For a moment I thought she agreed with my thoughts; then I realized she’d answered my question.
“Good,” I said, which felt inadequate. I searched for something else to say, something to express the wild voices in my heart, but a smile bloomed on her face like I’d said the most romantic thing ever. Maybe I was getting better at this wooing thing.
12
“Bright Ejarat,” Calla sighed, fanning herself dramatically once Con left the room. Nahua was finishing removing the last of the jewels that hadn’t come off during that mind-blowing sex with Con, while Zariah combed through the cushions to retrieve the rest of them. “When You release that man on the Night Court, he’s going to cause such a stir.”
Ibolya, gathering up the remains of the gown, threw Calla a sharp look, then raised a brow at me. “Orvyki should have Your bath ready, Your Highness.”
“Thank you.” I’d asked her to heat the water a bit more, to help keep me from stiffening up too much at dinner. “And I’m not releasing Con on the Night Court, Calla, so you might as well direct your fantasies elsewhere.” My tone came out a little too terse, but Ibolya smiled knowingly. I wondered sometimes about how some of my ladies, though privy to more knowledge than most, still seemed to regard Anure’s attack as unlikely, if not impossible. They helped me create the elaborate theater that all was well, but surely they must understand the gravity of our situation. It irritated me at times, how carefree their preoccupations—and then I realized I’d been spending too much time with Con. I’d begun to adopt his gloomy outlook.
I groaned as I sank into the water, the skin on my inner thigh stinging where Con had bit—actually bit—me. Ibolya handed me a soaped cloth. “What comes of taking a wolf to one’s bed,” she murmured for my ears alone.
Deciding I had no good answer for that, I simply smiled. Calla held up a gown for my approval, and I waved a hand without looking. I didn’t care what I wore. More precisely, I’d rather stay naked and loll about with Con, seeing how far I could push him and what delightful responses I could elicit. We’d been more or less polite in bed with each other until now, wary of the tentative status of our marriage and fragile political alliance. Con had been rough with me before this, yes, but inadvertently, and quickly regretting his clumsiness. Tonight … well, something had burned through his reserve and he’d been at me like a wolf, indeed.
I wanted more. I wanted more right then, but I had to go sit through a feast. Oh joy.
Sighing, I set myself to washing with more determination. “What news?” I asked Ibolya, ignoring the pang that it would’ve been Tertulyn who carried the information to me before.
She told me the local gossip, already gleaned while my ladies took advantage of the delay in tending me to freshen themselves, and to chat with the other women of the household. “Many people here are wondering why You stopped in Cradysica first,” Ibolya related. “Of course, they’re very proud to be the first to receive Conrí, but also puzzled—though they won’t say so right out. Other villages around Calanthe are discreetly inquiring about the next leg of Your journey, and word is that many are planning special festivals, on the chance that they’ll be privileged to host You after this. It looks to become quite competitive.”
“Your Highness might consider announcing which You will visit next,” Calla added. “If only to reduce some of the arguments already breaking out over which village most deserves Your attention. Some have sent outright invitations.”
I should have anticipated this. It had been years since I’d traveled around Calanthe—since I ascended to the throne after my father’s death. I hadn’t felt comfortable leaving the palace, not with Anure’s spies watching my every move and Syr Leuthar, the now deceased imperial emissary, poised to undermine me. And I didn’t really need to physically travel. Every part of Calanthe spoke to me in its way. But that wasn’t the same as me visiting my people. Naturally they vied to be the next to host us.
I’d have to make some excuse, as I had little doubt Con would find whatever it was he sought in Cradysica. The certainty had sung from his skin, and the wizard had known before we did. I’d considered pressing Con for details, but in this I indulged in a bit of denial. I didn’t want to know what dire fate he planned for this lovely place. On some level, I didn’t trust myself not to stop him. He’d pinned me perfectly when he asked which part of Calanthe I would choose to put in jeopardy. We both knew I couldn’t. It would be like asking me which hand I’d rather cut off.
“Let Me see the invitations,” I said on a long sigh.
At Ibolya’s signal, Nahua brought the missives that had followed me from court, and a few that had apparently come straight to Cradysica—Zariah and Agatha had done their jobs well—and I sifted through them while Zariah cleaned and oiled my scalp. “Your hair is growing in again already, Your Highness,” she noted.
That was faster than ever before, additional evidence of my eroding control over myself. It was tempting just to let it grow and—as Con had startled me by suggesting—to let my eyes show. If Con was right and Tertulyn had gone to Anure, I had nothing to hide anymore. Though if Con was right about Tertulyn, then any of the ladies now tending me and giggling over Con’s prowess and the marks he left on me—any of them might be spies ready to betray me. At least with Con … well, I knew all of his motivations, didn’t I? No wondering there what his priorities would be.
Handing the letters back, I resolved to deal with the matter in the morning. I stood, ready to begin dressing for dinner, where at least I’d see Con. How bitterly ironic that the ruthless invader I’d imprisoned and considered executing had turned out to be the one person I could trust. If only because I knew exactly what he’d betray me for.
* * *
I stood in the temple at Cradysica. The distinctive dome of the temple was a rare one that celebrated the joining of Sawehl and Ejarat, rather than one god or the other. It arced above me, as silver on the underside as it was gold on the other. It was all one piece, made from long-ago magic, the two metals fused together, and so finely wrought that the sun filtered through at high noon, filling the temple with translucent light.
The dome had been added to the original temple, a shrine that celebrated something much older, wild and ancient magic that predated the gentler gods of modern day. It was a graceful, peaceful place.
Then the image shifted, crumbling and then shattering. Stinking smoke filled the air, crowding out the golden light, suffocating it. Fire raged over the hillsides, turning them crimson red as the blood ran in rivers downhill to the sea. A cannon from a ship in the harbor boomed, and vurgsten landed on an unscathed patch of forest nearby. Birds, screaming, shot into the air, their feathers on fire, and I clamped my hands over my ears, though nothing could silence the shrieking of Calanthe and Her creatures, wounded and dying, crying out in her madness for the blood spilled in violence. The wind caught me up and I rose, up in the air, out over the sea, my feathers burning and skin bubbling, blistering. Calanthe cried for me, but I flew—was dragged?—onward.
&
nbsp; Helplessly pulled toward Yekpehr.
“No,” I sobbed. “Please, no. Please stop, I’ll do anything. Please.”
A wolf came for me and I reached for him, hoping he’d help me get back to Calanthe. He leapt at me, snarling, blood dripping from his jaws. I threw up my hands to stop him. His fangs closed over my left hand. They snapped down, severing my hand at the wrist, the wolf swallowing the orchid ring. I’d lost it. Lost what I’d sworn to protect. As if that action had snapped my last tether, I hurtled through the vast, uncaring sky. Falling, falling, down a long, dark tunnel. To my death.
“No!” I screamed. “No no no!”
“Lia!”
“No, please, no.”
“Wake up.”
“No, please don’t. You don’t know. You can’t know. No no no…”
Con was there in the temple, taking me into his arms and holding me while I sobbed, weeping bitter tears against his warm and naked chest. I tried to show him that my hand was gone, but he couldn’t seem to see it. “There now, Lia love,” he murmured. “Shh. I’m here and you’re safe.”
“The birds…”
“Singing sweetly. Listen. It’s nearly dawn and they’re calling out good morning.”
“No,” I hurled the denial at him, pounding his chest with my fists. My fists. Two hands. “Why are you doing this, Con? Why? You have to stop it.”
“Lia. Nothing is wrong. Open your eyes.”
My eyes were open, the burning smoke stinging them, the birds shrieking in their terrible agony. Or … singing? And my eyes were closed. I forced them open, water spilling out, and blinked to clear them of the blur. The sky outside the open window held no smoke or clouds, only a deep gray that contained a hint of the blue to come. Sunrise rode on the fresh breeze, and birdsong chorused, crashing through the sound of surf as the tide changed below.
Oh no. No no no. The nightmare protests echoed in my mind, repeated by my waking humiliation.
Con held me by the wrists—no doubt to keep me from pummeling him—leaning over me with concern on his face in the dim light.
The Fiery Crown Page 17