His hands dropped to the flap of buttons on his pants. “Watch me.”
I watched him undress as I’d done in the cavern. If he thought every inch of me was beautiful, then he hadn’t looked in a mirror. All that sun-kissed skin and lean muscle. His scars weren’t flaws. Not even the brand. They were a map of his strength, of what he’d overcome and a reminder that he’d found pieces of himself.
It struck me then how he could find my skin so flawless. He saw what I saw when I looked at him.
And he had since he first saw me without the veil.
Emotion clogged my throat, and I was half-afraid I’d start crying, but then he moved to me. The hard length of his body came over mine. My senses were nearly overwhelmed by the coarse hair of his legs against my skin, the weight and warmth of his body as he settled between my thighs, the feel of his chest brushing mine, and the hardness pressing at the softest part of me.
He curled his hand in my hair, tipping my head back. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this. To be inside you as I take a part of you inside me. To feel you come around my cock while I taste your blood on my tongue. It feels like forever.”
A shudder wracked my body as I drew my legs up over his. He gasped as the motion brought him closer. I wrapped my legs around his hips and lifted mine. We both made a sound then as he entered me just enough to send a wave of shivers up my spine. Casteel’s head dropped to my throat as his fingers tightened in my hair.
“Then why wait any longer?” I asked.
He didn’t.
His fangs pierced my skin at the same moment he thrust forward. I cried out, caught between acute pain and keen pleasure. I couldn’t breathe or move, even as his mouth closed over the punctures, and he drew deeply, his hips rolling against mine.
And then there was no more pain. Just pounding, relentless pleasure that erupted from deep inside me, and he got what he’d wanted at the start. Release powered through me as I gripped his shoulders, breathed his name as he drank from me and moved inside me, and then—
His hand was at my thigh. He lifted his mouth from my neck, his lips glossy and red. He held the dagger, and in a daze, I watched him drag the blade over his chest. Just an inch or two. Blood welled.
“Drink,” he gasped, lifting my head to his pectoral.
“Drink from me, Poppy.”
It had to be his bite and the feeling of him inside me, of my body tightening around him. There was no hesitation. I kissed the cut, and my mouth tingled as blood touched my lips, my tongue. Warm and thick, it coated my mouth. I swallowed the decadent, lush taste of him.
“Gods.” Casteel shuddered as he held me there, folding his other arm under my shoulder.
There was a burst of vivid colors—blues and purples. Lilacs. Was that the sweet taste of his blood? Was it more? There was a sound in my ears suddenly, a trickle of water—
Casteel started to move again. His blood…it was pure sin and addictive as I imagined the flower my nickname was derived from was. I could drown in it, in the sensations he elicited from me. When he pulled my head back, I started to protest, but then his mouth was on mine, and we were both lost.
There was no sense of rhythm or pace. We were frenzied. The effects of his blood and bite and my blood became madness. Tension built again, coiling deeply, stroking tighter with every deep, plunging thrust of our hips. The pressure spun until it whipped out, rocking me to my core again, and he was right there with me, toppling over the edge and falling and falling.
And he didn’t stop.
He kept moving over me, in me, his mouth gliding over mine. He took me, and I seized him. We were a tangle of legs and arms, of flesh and fire, and the build was slower. Everything was slower as we took our time, acting as if we had all the time in the world, even though we didn’t. And when we were finally spent, we didn’t let go of each other. Not even as he finally drifted to sleep, his arms still tight around me. Not even when I joined him, my cheek resting upon the place I’d once thrust a dagger into.
And that was how we woke hours later, after the sun had set, to the long trill of a songbird. A call that was answered.
A signal.
I sat up, staring into the darkness beyond the terrace doors.
Casteel’s chest pressed to my back a moment before he kissed my shoulder. “They’re here.”
Chapter 38
Moonlight glinted off the golden swords strapped to Casteel’s side as we walked across the Rise. Delano, who had met us at the door, had given them to him.
The short-sleeved, lightweight cloak I wore over the dark blue tunic and leggings had been Casteel’s idea. If any Ascended were among those nearing Spessa’s End, they may be able to see me with their heightened vision. That was the only condition Casteel had given when I rose from the bed.
“The hood goes up as soon as they arrive, and it stays up for as long as it can,” he’d said. “Don’t make yourself a target.”
“I have good news, potentially bad news, and hopefully good news,” Emil said as he met us just outside a battlement. “Our scouts have reported that it’s the smaller group that’s set to arrive.”
“How many?” Casteel asked.
“About two hundred.”
“I think I can guess what the potentially bad news is,” Casteel said. “Since it wouldn’t have taken this long to arrive, they waited on the larger army and for night to fall.”
Meaning, there were most likely vampry among them, and there was at least several hundred more not far behind.
“That and they’ve brought what appears to be catapults with them,” Emil said. “These walls may be damaged by whatever they plan to throw at us, but I doubt they will have anything that can take them down if they remained standing throughout the War of Two Kings.”
“These walls will not fall,” Casteel vowed.
“What is the hopefully good news?” I asked.
“Since they waited for their larger armies to join them, it’s hopefully given us time for reinforcements to arrive,” Naill answered as he crossed the Rise.
“Hopefully being the operative word,” Emil added. “There are a lot of what-ifs here. Alastir and Kieran would’ve had to travel nonstop. A sizable group of our soldiers would’ve had to be near Saion’s Cove and ready to travel.”
Fear trickled through me, but I didn’t give it room to breathe—to grow. Having fear wasn’t a weakness. Only the foolish and the false claimed to feel no fear, but that emotion could spread like a plague if given too much thought. I couldn’t think of what could happen—if we weren’t able to hold off the Ascended. If Kieran and Alastir hadn’t been able to send reinforcements in time.
“And that’s not taking into consideration the mist in the Skotos and how it would’ve responded to such a presence.” Emil paused. “Your Highness.”
I jolted at the title. “Excuse me?”
Casteel glanced at me, a slight grin appearing in the moonlight. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Prince.”
My eyes narrowed. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“And we’re married,” he continued. “Which makes you a Princess.”
“I know that, but the Princess thing isn’t official. I haven’t been…crowned or whatever.”
“It’s customary to refer to you as Your Highness or my Princess, even before the crowning,” Naill explained.
“Can we not?” I asked.
“It would be considered a great dishonor.” Naill paused. “Your Highness.”
I looked at him, and the Atlantian smiled innocently at me.
Casteel snorted.
“By the way, congratulations on the marriage,” Emil said, drawing my gaze to him. My senses told me he was sincere. “I have a feeling you will make a very interesting Queen.”
Queen?
Oh gods, how in the world did I forget that in the whole this-marriage-is-now-for-real thing? There was no way Malik would be in any shape to lead the kingdom once and if he was freed. Casteel would take the throne. Eventually. And I wo
uld be…
Okay.
I was not going to think about that.
“Then we will be calling you—Your Majesty,” Emil said, winking at me. “Isn’t that right, Cas?”
“Right,” he replied flatly, placing his hand on my hip. “Both of you should be getting into position.”
Emil and Naill made a great show of bowing before they left. “What was that about?” I asked. “You sending them off like that?”
“It’s official,” Casteel said, watching Emil as he stopped to speak to one of the Guardians. “I’m going to have to kill him.”
My head whipped in his direction. “What? Why?”
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
Confused, I glanced back to where Emil was walking toward the stairwell. “How does he look at me?”
His hand was a scalding brand on my hip, even through the layers of clothing. “He looks at you like I do.”
My brows lifted. “That’s not true. You look at me like...”
Those heated amber eyes met mine. “How do I look at you, Princess?”
“You look at me like...” I cleared my throat. “Like you want to eat me.”
Casteel’s eyes narrowed into thin slits as his gaze return to Emil. “Exactly,” he snarled.
I stared at him and then laughed. His gaze flew to mine, his eyes bright and wide like they always were when I laughed. “You’re actually jealous.”
“Of course, I am. At least I can acknowledge that.”
And he was jealous. I could feel it, an ashy coating in the back of my throat. “You are…”
“Devilishly handsome? Wickedly clever?” He turned back to the western sky, where it still carried the haze of fire. “Stunningly charismatic?”
“That wasn’t what I was going for,” I told him. “More like ridiculous.”
“Endearingly ridiculous,” he corrected.
I rolled my eyes. “You know, not once have I even considered seeking the affections of another. Not since I met you.”
“I know.” He bent his head, brushing his lips over my brow. “My jealousy is not rooted in anything you’ve done.”
“Or in logic.”
“That we will have to disagree on. I know how he looks at you.”
“I think you’re seeing things.”
“I know what I see.” He pulled back, his eyes meeting mine. “Every time I look at you, I see a gift I’m not worthy of.”
My breath caught as my heart swelled. It wasn’t new—him saying things like that. What was new was me believing them. “You are worthy,” I told him. “Most of the time.”
He cracked a grin. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I wondered if that was true as we stepped into a parapet. Bows and stocked quivers were placed against the wall. I looked down at the dark road and fields ahead, seeing nothing.
“Are they down there?” I asked, recalling what I’d learned when they discussed strategies. “The wolven?”
“They are in the fields, well hidden, even from vampry eyes.” He placed his hands on the stone ledge, and the ring on his finger snagged my gaze. “The Guardians are in place, waiting for my lead. Those who can wield a sword are in the courtyard, and the others, the ones skilled with a bow, will be up here.”
Pulling my gaze from his ring, I looked over my shoulder. They were already arriving. Mortals who were too old to lift more than a bow. The Guardians escorted them to different parapets. The trickle of fear returned as I turned back to Casteel. “How many do we have? The final count?”
His jaw hardened. “One hundred and twenty-six.”
I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes as I forced myself to take a deep, even breath.
“I wish you’d gone with Alastir and Kieran,” he said quietly. “You would be far away from here. Safe.”
I opened my eyes.
Casteel stared into the darkness. “But I’m glad you’re here. Spessa’s End needs you. I need you.” He looked at me then. “But I still wish you weren’t here.”
I could accept that. “I wish you weren’t here,” I whispered. “I wish they weren’t coming.” I let a little of the fear through. “We still plan to free your brother and see mine, right? We still plan to prevent a war?”
He nodded.
“But after tonight?” I swallowed as I looked out to the western sky. “It may be too late. War has come to us.”
“It’s never too late. Not even after blood has been drawn and lives have been lost,” he said. “Things can always be stopped.”
I hoped so. I really did.
He turned to me, touching my cheek. “We may be absurdly outnumbered, but everyone who picks up a bow or sword to fight for Spessa’s End, for Atlantia, does so because they want to. Not for money. Not because joining the army was their only option. Not out of fear. We fight to live. We fight to protect what we’ve built here. We fight to protect one another. None of them—the Ascended, the knights, Solis soldiers—will fight with heart, and that makes the difference.”
I blew out a steadier breath. “It does.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then I felt his lips against my cheek, against the scars. “I will ask one other thing of you, Poppy. Stay up here. No matter what. Stay up here and use the bow. And if something were to happen to me, run. Go to the cavern. Kieran will know to find you there—”
“That’s asking two things of me.” Pressure clamped down on my chest.
“You are what they want,” he said. “With you, they will be able to do more harm to both Atlantia and Solis than if anything happens to me.”
“If anything happens to you—” I cut myself off, unable to go there when everything between us now was still so new, when it would breathe life into the fear I already felt. “These people need you more than they need me.”
“Poppy—”
“Do not ask me to do that.” I looked at him. “Do not ask me to run and hide while someone I care about is hurt or worse. I will not do that again.”
He closed his eyes. “This is not the same.”
I started to demand how it wasn’t when I heard the low call of warning from the fields. Both of us turned as fire sparked and a torch flamed to life in the distance, one after another until light spilled across the empty road.
Casteel signaled back as he reached for the hood of my cloak, pulling it up. As he fastened the row of buttons at my throat, the archers rushed forward, dropping behind the battlement walls.
Heart rate kicking up and breaths becoming too quick, I picked up a bow and an arrow out of the quiver—it was the kind I was familiar with—and stepped back so I wouldn’t be seen beyond the stone walls. Casteel remained where he stood, the only person visible to the approaching regiment. Instead of what marched forward, I stared at him, focused on the straight line of his spine and the proud lift of his chin. And as the silence gave way to the sound of dozens of boots and hooves falling upon the packed earth and the creak of wooden wheels turning, my senses stretched out to him. There was the bitter taste of fear, because he was no fool, but it was such a small amount because he was no coward.
“This kind of reminds me,” he noted, “of the night on the Rise in Masadonia. Except you’re not wearing slippers and a rather indecent nightgown. I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed.”
My heart slowed, and my breaths were no longer shallow. My spine straightened, and my chin lifted. “You should be grateful. You won’t be distracted tonight.”
He laughed softly. “Still a little disappointed.”
I smiled as my grip tightened on the bow.
There were no more words then as we watched the soldiers of Solis draw closer, shoving torches into the road and embankments. Their front lines were mortal soldiers, carrying heavy broadswords and wearing plates of leather. Horses pulled three catapults, and beyond them were the archers and mounted soldiers in metal armor, wearing black mantles. Knights. They were maybe two dozen or so of th
em. Not many, but enough to be a problem.
The knights parted as a windowless, crimson carriage rolled forward between two of the wooden catapults. There was something in them. I squinted. Sacks? It wasn’t gunpowder or other projectiles. Instead of relief, unease blossomed.
Soldiers parted, making way for the carriage that bore the Royal Crest. Several of the knights rode forward, surrounding the conveyance as the wheels stopped, protecting whoever was inside.
It had to be a Royal.
The door opened, and someone stepped out—someone so heavily cloaked that when they moved around the door, I could not tell if it was a man or a woman who walked forward, flanked by knights. Whoever it was, took their sweet old time, stopping once they stood in front of the soldiers. Gloved hands rose, shoving back the hood.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.
Duchess Teerman stood before the Rise, her face as pale and pretty as I remembered, but she wore no finery in her brown hair tonight. It was pulled back from her face in a simple twist as she stared up at the Rise.
And it was then when I truly feared what I would discover when I saw Ian with my own eyes. Duchess Teerman had been kind—well, she had never been particularly cruel to me. She’d been as cold and unreachable as most Ascended were, but when I killed Lord Mazeen, she had told me not to waste a moment more thinking of him. I believed that perhaps she too had been a victim of the Duke’s perversities. Maybe she had been, but the fact that she was here could only mean one thing.
She was the enemy.
Would that make Ian one, too?
Her berry-red lips curved into a tight, humorless smile. “Hawke Flynn,” she said, her voice too familiar as I quietly nocked an arrow. “Or is there another name you prefer?”
“It doesn’t matter what name you call me,” he answered, sounding about as bored as Kieran did during, well, everything.
“It would be rude if I called you by a false name,” she replied, clasping her hands together. The soldiers and knights remained silent and still behind her. “I don’t want to be rude.”
“I go by several names. The Dark One. Bastard. Cas. Prince Casteel Da’Neer,” he said, and there was no mistaking the slight widening of her eyes. She hadn’t known that—who he truly was. “Call me whatever you like as long as you know it will be my voice that will be the last sound you hear.”
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