Crush the King

by Jennifer Estep

  I watched him come, admiring his strong, confident stride and tall, muscled body. Even now, after all our weeks together, I still couldn’t believe that he was here, that he was mine, and that he loved me just as fiercely as I did him.

  Sullivan stopped in front of me, his body a few scant inches away. He tilted his head to the side, and his blue, blue gaze locked with mine. A slow, devastating smile spread across his lips. “Well, if you don’t want to focus on your bad memories, then you should let me help you make some new ones.”

  My heart stuttered, my breath caught in my throat, and hot, liquid desire started simmering in my veins. “What kind of memories?”

  He gave me another wicked smile. “The kind this consort specializes in.”

  He leaned forward and braced his hands on the door on either side of my shoulders. My lips parted, and my body tensed with anticipation. Sullivan loomed in front of me, his handsome features blotting out everything else. My eyes began to flutter shut, and he drew closer to me . . . and closer . . . and closer still . . .

  Sullivan kissed the tip of my nose.

  My eyes snapped open. He leaned back and grinned, smugly pleased with his teasing.

  “A kiss on the nose?” I muttered. “Really?”

  “What were you expecting?” Sullivan kept teasing me. “Some grand romantic gesture? I already did that on the Pureheart Bridge, remember? Or perhaps you wanted me to sweep you off your feet and spin you around the room.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sweeping me off my feet is a bit much. Especially since I am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet. Besides, I’d probably get dizzy if you actually spun me around.”

  “But?”

  “But I wouldn’t have minded something a bit more passionate,” I grumbled. “We’ve only been together for a couple of months. That’s far too early for you to be kissing me on the nose and tucking me into bed like we’re an old married couple.”

  Sullivan’s smile widened, and his eyes burned like blue stars. “Oh, highness,” he murmured in a low, husky voice that sent a shiver racing down my spine. “I would be quite happy to tuck you into bed. All you had to do was ask.”

  I arched an eyebrow, silently daring him to give me another chaste kiss on the nose. For a moment, I thought that was exactly what he was going to do, but Sullivan dipped his head, surged forward, and crushed his lips to mine.

  Every single part of him filled up my senses. The firm feel of his lips against my own. The quick, sure thrust of his tongue into my mouth. The warmth of his body heating the air between us. His vanilla scent tickling my nose with its faint, intoxicating hint of spice.

  The kiss ended as quickly as it began, and Sullivan drew back, his hands still braced on the door on either side of my body, still not touching me. Not yet.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” I whispered in a breathless voice.

  He grinned again. “Oh, highness. I’m just getting started.”

  He leaned forward as though he were going to kiss me again, but this time he aimed lower, and his lips landed on my neck. I tilted my head to the side to give him better access, even as his hands crept up and started working at the silver crown-of-shards clasp on the front of my cloak. The garment drifted down to the floor, pooling at our feet.

  Sullivan drew back, then leaned forward and kissed the other side of my neck. This time, his fingers worked on the laces on the front of my tunic, quickly loosening them. I lifted my arms so that he could draw the garment up and over my head, along with the soft, thin camisole underneath. He tossed them both aside, then snaked his arm around my waist, turning me around so that his chest was pressed against my back. Even through his tunic, the delicious heat of his body sank into my own bare skin.

  Sullivan kissed my neck again, while his hands slid up my stomach and cupped my breasts. He gently squeezed them, then rolled the nipples between his fingers. That heat in my stomach spread through the rest of my body, and I sighed and arched back against him.

  “If you like that, highness, then you’re going to love this next bit,” he rasped.

  “I know I will,” I murmured, lifting my hand to stroke the side of his face.

  His hands left my breasts and slid lower. This time, he worked on the laces on the front of my leggings, undoing them as quickly and skillfully as he had the ones on my tunic.

  His hand slid inside my leggings and then down below my silken undergarments. I turned my head to the side so that I could look up at him. Sullivan stared back at me, another wicked grin on his face. Then he leaned forward and kissed me again, flicking his tongue against mine, even as he cupped my warm, wet heat.

  I hissed at how good it felt.

  Sullivan rubbed his fingers back and forth, caressing that most intimate part of me. That warm desire in my veins burned brighter and hotter, turning into sharp, throbbing need.

  “Sully,” I rasped, urging him on. “Sully.”

  He kissed my neck again, his tongue skipping over the frantic, pounding pulse in my throat. I drew in a breath, but all I could see, feel, taste, smell was him. With every slide and glide of his fingers, Sullivan teased me a little higher until finally that sharp, throbbing need exploded into a tidal wave of pleasure. I cried out and sagged back against his body. He wrapped his arm around my waist again and pressed a kiss to the top of my shoulder.

  “Like I said, highness,” he whispered against my skin. “All you had to do was ask.”

  I shivered, then turned around so that we were face-to-face. I smiled and leaned forward, as though I were going to kiss him, but at the last moment, I gave him a peck on the nose instead.

  Sullivan raised his eyebrows. “Using my own trick against me? That’s not fair.”

  “Who said anything about fair?” I grinned. “Especially when we both know that it’s more fun not to play fair.”

  I leaned forward again, kissing his neck, just like he had done mine. This time, my fingers went to work on the laces of his clothes. Sullivan lifted his arms, and I drew his tunic up and over his head, tossing it aside. I stopped to admire his bare muscled chest, then skimmed my fingers over the faint scars that cut across his skin, slowly working my way lower and lower. I undid the laces on his leggings, then we both stepped out of our boots, peeled off our socks, and shimmied out of our remaining garments.

  When there were no more barriers between us, I stepped close to him again. Sullivan’s hands fisted by his sides, but he didn’t reach for me. Not yet. We stood there, staring into each other’s eyes, both of us breathing hard, anticipating what was coming next.

  I had thought to play a slow, teasing game just as he’d done with me, but I wanted him too badly to wait any longer, so I tangled my hand in his hair and drew his lips down to mine. Sullivan growled and started to pull me closer, but I put my other hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. I walked Sullivan all the way over to the bed in the back of the room. His legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he fell back onto the soft blankets.

  Sullivan propped himself up on his elbows, while I looked him over from head to toe. His rumpled brown hair. The stubble on his chin. His bare muscled chest. The hard length of him just waiting to be claimed.

  “I pictured you like this so many times,” I confessed in a low, husky voice. “Here. In my bed. With me.”

  He held out his hand. “Then come and have me, highness.”

  I threaded my fingers through his, and he pulled me down onto the bed with him. I took all the proper herbs and precautions, as did he, so there was no worry between us, only desire.

  We kissed, our lips and tongues crashing together time and time again, even as our hands slid over each other’s body, kneading, caressing, and bringing as much pleasure to the other as possible.

  I rolled Sullivan onto his back, then straddled him. My hand closed over his long, hard cock, and I stroked him the same way he had me. Sullivan arched back, his hands fisting in the blankets. But he was just as impatient as I was, and he reached for me again. I leaned f
orward, and he pulled me down on top of him, thrusting into me at the same time.

  We both moaned. I kissed him again, driving my tongue into his mouth, while his hands roamed up and down my back. Then I rose and started rocking my hips, taking him a little deeper inside with every quick slide.

  Sullivan anchored his hands on my hips, urging me on, and I rocked harder, faster, moving in exquisite pleasure with him until we both finally cried out and reached our release together.

  * * *

  Afterward, Sullivan kept his promise. He tucked me under the blankets, then spooned against my back and drifted off to sleep. I slept as well, but some time later the soothing blackness receded, replaced by memories I would have rather forgotten . . .

  I had never been so hungry.

  My hunger was like a gargoyle in my belly, constantly growling, grumbling, and demanding to be fed. But there was nothing in the snowy woods to eat, unless I wanted to gnaw on some pine cones.

  I eyed one of the spiky brown cones that littered the ground. Would eating a pine cone kill me? I didn’t know, but it certainly wouldn’t be good for me. Then again, neither was wandering around the woods in circles.

  Three days ago, I had stumbled away from the ruined remains of Winterwind, my family estate. My father, Jarl Sancus, had been poisoned with wormroot by Ansel, my traitorous tutor, while my mother, Lady Leighton Larimar Winter Blair, had been murdered by a Mortan weather magier while we’d been fleeing from our home. I’d gotten lucky and had managed to kill the weather magier, and I’d been wandering through the woods ever since.

  I thought I’d been walking south, heading toward the nearest town, but I must have gotten turned around in the trees because I hadn’t come across any signs of civilization. No hunters stalking deer, no one chopping wood, not even a traveler on the way to Unger or Andvari. My only company was the bluefrost doves softly cooing in the treetops, and for all I knew, I was the last person alive on the entire continent. But staring hungrily at pine cones certainly wasn’t doing me any good, so I wrapped my arms around my still-growling stomach and trudged on.

  The only good thing about walking through the woods was that there was plenty of water. I stopped in a clearing, scooped up a handful of snow from the ground, and shoved it into my mouth. The cold crystals froze my tongue before they slowly, reluctantly melted.

  I was still crouching down, shoveling snow into my mouth and trying to pretend that it was something more substantial and filling, when a faint crack rang out.

  I froze. Another crack rang out, and then another one, falling into a steady rhythm that I recognized as footsteps.

  Someone was coming this way.

  I stayed frozen in place a moment longer, then my mind sluggishly kicked into gear, whispering a warning. As much as I longed to find someone to help me—or at least give me something to bloody eat—Mortan assassins could be roaming around, searching for survivors of the Winterwind attack. I surged to my feet, but before I could hide behind a tree, two people strode into the clearing.

  They stopped and stared, as surprised to see me as I was them.

  One was a man, more than six feet tall, with dark brown hair, eyes, and skin, and a long, bushy brown beard. He was bundled up in a black cloak trimmed with shaggy brown fur that made him look like a grizzly. He was carrying a knapsack on either shoulder, with another, larger one strapped to his back. Several small bags were also fastened to his black leather belt, along with a piece of rope with a box dangling from the end. Black cloth covered the container, hiding the contents.

  The other person was a woman with long blond hair, blue eyes, and milky skin, who was as petite and slender as the man was tall and stocky. Her black cloak was trimmed with sleek purple feathers, making her resemble a small, elegant strix.

  The two of them must have been traipsing through the woods for quite some time, given the snow that crusted their black boots, but they looked warm and cozy in their thick cloaks, as though the chilly air wasn’t bothering them. I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from shivering in my thin blue dress.

  “Hello, there, little lady,” the woman crooned in a soft voice. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m . . . lost.”

  It was more or less the truth, and it seemed to be the safest, most plausible explanation. I couldn’t tell these people, these strangers, who I was or what had happened at Winterwind. Not until I knew for certain that they weren’t Mortan assassins.

  Part of me still wanted to bolt into the woods, but that hadn’t done me any good the last three days, so I forced myself to walk forward, as though I weren’t afraid of them.

  “Can you help me find my parents? We were heading toward Andvari and stopped to make camp a few hours ago. My mother sent me to get some firewood, but I couldn’t find any, and I got turned around. All these stupid trees look the same.” I let out a weak laugh, hoping they wouldn’t realize how ridiculous my story was.

  My mother and father had proudly told me how good we Bellonans were at playing the long game, at waiting, lying, plotting, and otherwise manipulating people in order to get them to do what we wanted. My mother had told me countless bedtime stories about Bryn Bellona Winter Blair and how my gladiator ancestor had used her wits, skills, strength, and magic to found our kingdom. I wasn’t trying to do something that grand and important, but I had a sneaking suspicion that my survival depended on my playing the long game now, even though I had never attempted it before.

  The woman glanced at the man, who shrugged. She looked at me again, another, wider smile creasing her face.

  “Of course we can help. What happened?” She gestured at my dress.

  I looked down. My dress was torn and ripped from the Winterwind attack, and blood also stained the tattered fabric, turning it more brown than blue. My blood—along with my mother’s blood.

  Thinking about how the Mortan weather magier had killed my mother made bile rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down and focused on the strangers again.

  “Oh, I . . . tripped and fell. Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it looks. Just a few cuts and bruises.”

  The woman nodded, seeming to accept my feeble explanation. “We were just about to stop and make camp.” She gestured at the clearing around us. “This looks like a fine spot. Why don’t you stay with us? We can talk about the best way to find your parents over a hot meal.”

  She was still smiling and saying all the right things, but the smoky lie of her words curled through the air, along with her sour, sweaty eagerness and the man’s sharp, orange interest. I didn’t know what these people wanted, but they certainly weren’t planning on finding my nonexistent parents. Even worse, they both reeked of magic. The woman had the charred aroma of a fire magier, while the man was probably a mutt with enhanced strength, given how many knapsacks and bags he was so easily carrying.

  Once again, I was tempted to run into the trees and try to lose them in the growing darkness, but another, stronger shiver swept over me, and my stomach grumbled again. I couldn’t trust these people, but maybe I could stay with them long enough to at least eat some food. At this point, I’d take whatever crumbs I could get, no matter how dangerous the situation might be.

  So I forced myself to smile back at the woman as if I didn’t know that she was plotting something horrible. “Thank you so much! I’m so happy I ran into you!”

  The woman glanced over at her partner, her expression turning much sharper and far more predatory. He shrugged again, agreeing with whatever she was silently asking.

  The woman looked at me again. “My name is Rocinda, and this is Caxton. What’s your name?”

  “Ev . . . ie. My name is Evie . . . Sancus.”

  I had been about to say Everleigh Blair, but I couldn’t use my real name. Not with these strangers.

  Rocinda smiled again. She really needed to work on faking a happy, pleasant expression. She was showing so many teeth that she looked like a witch in some old fairy tale who was eager to gobble me u
p. “Hello, Evie. You can tell us where you think your parents might be while we set up camp.”

  I gave her a sunny smile in return, as if I had no clue that she was literally lying through her teeth. “That would be wonderful!”

  Rocinda and Caxton slung their knapsacks down onto a patch of ground that was clear of the snow that dappled much of the clearing. Caxton also unhooked the rope from his belt and tied it around a nearby tree branch. The box on the end of the rope swung side to side like a clock pendulum ticking off the seconds. He didn’t remove the black cloth from the box, so I still couldn’t see what was under it.

  Rocinda dug into her knapsack and pulled out several items wrapped in thick brown paper and tied off with string. She produced a knife from the folds of her feathered cloak, sliced through the strings, and unwrapped the papers, revealing long strips of beef jerky, thick wedges of cheese, and dried bloodcrisp apples and honey cranberries. The scents of the salty meat, buttery cheeses, and sweet, tart fruit made my stomach grumble again.

  “Want something to eat?” Rocinda offered me a wedge of cheese.

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  I drew in a breath, but the cheese was just cheese, and not poisoned or tainted, so I sank my teeth into it. The sharp, tangy flavor exploded on my tongue, and I almost moaned with happiness. The cheese was nothing special, just a common cheddar, but it was still one of the best things I had ever tasted.

  I quickly polished off that wedge of cheese and two more, while Caxton dug a small pit, arranged stones around it, and filled it with pine cones, along with some branches that he broke off the nearby trees. Rocinda used her magic to light a fire, then put some jerky strips into a small cast-iron pot, along with water, a few potatoes, and a couple of chopped carrots. Thirty minutes later, she passed me a steaming mug of rich, hearty stew.

  While I was waiting for it to cool down enough to eat, I studied the magier again, and I spotted a small round pendant hanging off the thin gold chain around her neck. I glanced over at Caxton. He too was wearing a pendant and chain.