by Gwynn White
As if an ice crystal in his neck wasn’t enough.
He understood their caution. He had told and shown them by his actions that he was on Nicholas’s side, but Vasily had also reported to Stefan that Meka was a staunch Lukan supporter. He would just have to prove his trustworthiness to them in Oldfort and beyond.
His reasons for seeking Farith’s company were far less complicated: He liked the way he felt around her. She accepted him as he was; she made him laugh; her slightest touch had the power to melt him—and then harden him in ways no girl had ever done before.
He was yet to do anything about his physical reaction to her. In fact, they hadn’t even kissed. He hoped to change that—at least the kissing part—tonight.
Tomorrow he left for Oldfort for Lukan’s Burning. Who knew when he’d see Farith again?
“Almost there. You’ll like it.” Worry flickered in her eyes, and she growled, “Or you better hope you do.”
The place was obviously special to her. He squeezed her hand to reassure her; they didn’t need too many words to communicate. It was one of the things he liked about her.
They reached a low, narrow doorway—far too small for a Trevenite to pass through comfortably.
Farith pulled a key from her pocket and opened it. “After you.”
Meka stepped into a cozy cave made comfortable by a mattress on the floor, piled high with a colorful quilt and soft cushions. Rows and rows of bookshelves, crammed with books, lined the walls. A lantern on a side table cast a warm glow over the space.
“Anna and I didn’t always get along. When we turned thirteen, my father gave me this room so I could escape her and her friends.” Farith’s fingers lightly traced the books. “It’s grown with me as I’ve matured.” She glanced at him and then looked away.
His approval clearly mattered to her. He told the truth. “I’m not much of a reader, but I could be happy in here.”
A small glower. “What, with books you don’t read?”
He smiled. “No, with the girl who insists on using books for wallpaper.”
For a second, she preened, smiling that smug smile that sent his insides swooping, and then she tossed herself down onto the mattress.
Meka hesitated, not sure what to do. Irritated with himself, he sat down next to her.
All trace of smugness gone, she said, “I know I’m probably not your dream girl, Meka, and . . . and you’re right. Someone as handsome as you should be with someone like my sister.”
He opened his mouth to object, then closed it as he considered her statement. He liked Anna; she was lively, adventurous, a real firecracker. Too much so, if he were honest. And there was more to a girl than just looks. He had to talk—or rather, not talk to them—as well as do . . . other things.
When he focused on Farith again, she had turned away to fiddle with the lantern. He grabbed her hand and blurted, “I’m not some girl’s trophy. It’s you I want.”
She laughed, eyes sparkling, and then kissed him.
Meka almost fell off the mattress when her warm lips brushed his. Snorting inwardly at his stupidity, he wrapped his arms around her.
Small, curved, and warm, she made his heart pound. She opened her mouth to him, offering him her tongue. Breathing hard, he touched the tip of her tongue with his. Like the rest of her, it was soft and warm and did incredible things to his skin, his muscles, his blood—his whole body sang to her.
More adventurous, his tongue brushed down the side of hers.
She moaned—actually moaned!
And then she pulled away from him. “Please come back to me, Chenayan prince. It’s dangerous what you’re doing. Don’t do anything stupid to get yourself killed.”
Meka didn’t need a mirror to know he looked lovesick as he smiled at her. “And risk losing the only girl who’s ever been willing to kiss me? Not likely.”
Farith laughed. “Confessions, is it? Well, you’re the only boy who has ever kissed me.” Her face fell. “Trevenite boys don’t line up to grab favors from girls who are . . . abnormal. No boy does.”
“So you’re saying I’m abnormal?”
She studied him. “Yup. I guess I am. And that’s why I’ve fallen in love with you. You are like no one else I have ever met.”
“Fishing can do that to a lad.”
But even though she had called him abnormal—no shock there—he smiled and kissed her again, harder this time.
She slipped her hands under his shirt and stroked his skin like he was something precious. Goosebumps spiked, and he shivered. Could she feel his hardness pressing into her?
She glowered at him, a sign he had come to recognize as vulnerability.
He braced himself for what would come, determined to say and do nothing to make her regret confiding in him. But even so, nothing prepared him for her words.
“Would you be shocked if I asked you to make love to me, Meka?” Boldly, she held his gaze, but he saw fear in the depths of her green eyes.
He took her hands. “No. But if I did it, it would seem to me that I’m taking advantage of you.”
Her scowl intensified. “Not if I’m asking you for it.”
She ripped her hands away from his and stood.
He grabbed her. “Don’t go. Y-you just caught me by surprise. Like you always do.”
She stared at the bookshelf. “I’m not going to want to be with you any more tomorrow than I do today, Meka. Or next week, or in a year’s time.”
“That doesn’t mean I should have sex with you hours before I leave for Oldfort. We have no idea if—when I’ll be back.”
Her head swung, and her green eyes scorched him. “You will be back! And I’m not blind. I don’t need my dead grandmother, or some other spirit, to pat me on the back and say, ‘Hey, short Trevenite girl, that blond Chenayan prince is meant for you.’ I already know it.”
He smiled and pulled her down onto his lap. He stroked her spiky, jasper-colored hair. Unlike the red rock, it was soft. “I get that. But you’re not the only one with interfering dead people. I have a dead father, and I don’t think he’d approve if I sleep with you and then leave.”
“Too right.”
Meka glanced up, but didn’t see Tao. I thought you said you tried to avoid being creepy.
Tao chuckled. “I do.”
Then leave. And . . . and I’ll catch up with you in Oldfort.
Meka sensed his father slip away. When he focused on Farith again, she looked resolute in her disagreement.
He tipped his head and kissed her hungrily, hoping to leave her in no doubt that he wanted her. She folded herself around him and kissed until he was lightheaded, and he had to break away to breathe.
“Farith, I promise, I will make love to you when I get back here.” He licked his lips, tasting her on him. “And then there will be no pressure. No fear. Just you and me in love.”
Had he just told a girl he didn’t want to have sex with her? And that he loved her?
Both decisions felt good.
Farith wriggled in his arms. “While you’re gone, I’m going to get another tattoo done.”
He grimaced, and she laughed.
“Yes, my prince. I was thinking of an M.”
“Just an M?”
“A work in progress. I’ll get the rest done when you get back.”
Meka stroked her silky stomach, looking at her through heavy eyelids. “And where will this tattoo be?”
Voice husky, she asked, “Where do you want it?”
He wanted to say, “How about on a piece of paper?” but resisted the urge. She loved her tattoos, and he loved her. If she wanted to turn herself into a canvas, it would not change how he felt.
“Somewhere only I can see it.”
She rewarded him her fiercest glare yet. “The whole idea is to show the world that you’re mine.”
He kissed her, then whispered. “I’ve already told you, I’m not a trophy. Leave telling the world to me. I’ll make sure they know the abnormal Chenayan prince has c
hosen you.”
She searched his face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He brushed the inside of her thigh, making her shiver. “Put your tattoo there. I’ll find it when I get back home.”
Home.
He smiled. Grigor and the palace in Cian would always tug at his heart, but where this girl lived was definitely home.
“And afterward, you will come with me to get the rest inked in?”
Meka didn’t need the hesitation in her voice to tell him that her request was far more significant than her just wanting him to watch her being tattooed.
“Your name would look good on me, too. I’ll leave you to decide where to put it.”
Farith’s smile had never looked so smug.
He was about to kiss it away, but she grabbed his hand and stood. “We have a date with a tattoo artist.”
“Now?” His stomach turned to stone.
“Yes. An M for me and an F for you.”
Now that it came down to it, he didn’t know if he was ready to get an F tattooed onto himself. He didn’t know what he wanted, really, but the only certainty in his uncertainty was that he wished she were in his arms while he made the decision.
She stood silent during his hesitation, looking tough and uncaring of his answer, except for the slight vulnerability in her eyes.
He may not have detected it if he hadn’t recognized his own expression there.
“Where do you want it?”
She stroked his ribs. “Right here, close to your heart.”
Meka followed her to the tattoo artist. When things got tough—he didn’t doubt that they would—he would look at the first letter of her name etched into his skin and know he had something precious to come home to.
Chapter 52
Tired of pretending he could actually stomach food, Lukan placed his cheese knife on his plate and wiped his mouth with a starched napkin. He had arrived in Maegkin the previous evening in preparation for today: the Burning of Oldfort.
Overtly, he had planned with Zarot and Felix to slip the Dragon’s Fire from her moorings in Maegkin after this late luncheon for her three-hour flight to Oldfort. But with so much at stake, he had gone behind their backs and had released the trigger moments before the meal had started.
He glanced at his watch. The drone had been in the air for just over an hour and a half. In less than that, it would sneak in under Axel’s early warning system and blanket the town and its spring solstice revelers with gas.
Lukan’s stomach rebelled against the cheese. He burped into his napkin and dropped the cloth onto the table.
So close to victory, he could not risk any leaks of the plan to Axel. Especially when he’d sooner trust a snake than Stefan Zarot.
And as for Meka . . . he glanced across the table at his heir. Back straight, correct cutlery in hand, Lukan could hardly believe this serious-faced, respectful young man was the same loud-mouthed rebel that had left Cian over a month ago.
Felix had been right in his assessment of Meka’s needs. Lukan clenched his teeth.
The vast change in his heir inspired him to involve Meka in the Burning. It was good training for the boy.
“Down to the business of the day.” He turned to Stefan, who hosted this occasion for Lukan to meet key officers in Maegkin. “I wish to meet privately with you, Felix, and Meka.” He stared out at his officers. “Gentlemen, your efforts in fighting to take the mines are not unappreciated. Keep on with the good work. I assure you, victory is at hand.” He scraped his chair back and stood.
Once everyone had bowed to him, he swept out the room and headed for Zarot’s office.
“Close the door behind you,” he said to Meka, the last one in the room.
Meka obeyed, standing to attention once he’d complied. Felix leaned on his cane, eyeing Zarot’s sofa. The usual blank mask on his face, Zarot stood at ease with his hands behind his back.
Lukan waved at the sofa, and Felix tumbled into it.
Felix had barely stashed his cane when Lukan said, “Meka, after a week in Maegkin, you will know we fight a hostile rebel force, one intent on destroying the empire. Tonight that ends. I have an airship filled with poisoned gas headed for Oldfort, one of the leadership’s strongholds. By tomorrow, everyone will be dead.” He paused to assess Meka’s reaction.
Eyes wide. Jaw dangling.
Lukan suppressed a snort. Regardless of all the other changes in Meka, the boy still managed to look like a gutted fish.
Meka snapped his mouth closed and straightened his already straight back.
Better.
“It will be good to rid the world of the alliance, sire,” Meka said. “Treven is ours, and the ice crystal mines should be, too.”
Zarot stepped forward. “I am ready to hit the trigger to release the ship, sire, as you commanded.”
Lukan couldn’t resist a sly smile. “It is done. The Dragon’s Fire is on course. I expect it to arrive in Oldfort at seven this evening. A little earlier than planned, but the gas will still do its work.”
Expressionless, Zarot nodded. “Of course, sire.”
Felix shifted in his seat. “Changing plans without consulting your closest allies can be risky, sire.”
Lukan glared at Felix, annoyed that his uncle would question him in front of Zarot and the prince. “As this is my plan, I hardly need permission to act on it.” He gestured to his heir and then the sofa. “Sit. We have a wait until the gas is launched.”
The prince glanced at Zarot and then obeyed. Lukan wondered at that silent communication but saw no harm in it. The boy had spent the week in Zarot’s care.
Zarot bowed. “Perhaps, sire, you would excuse me for a few moments. I wish to see my officers back to their duties.”
Lukan waved Zarot’s request away with a swipe of his hand. “Nonsense. They can see themselves out.” He gestured at Zarot’s drinks cabinet. “Chenna for the wait.”
Stefan bowed. “Of course, sire.”
Lukan stretched out on one of Zarot’s chairs and plunked his feet on the coffee table. “What a joy it is to know that Axel has no clue of the death sailing out to grab him by the throat.”
“Quite,” Felix said. “A masterful stroke, sire.”
Chapter 53
Lynx twirled her braid so tightly that her finger turned blue. Every anguish, every prayer, every sleepless night since Talon had been captured came down to today—the solstice conclave with the monarchs, followed by Lukan’s Burning.
If all went well, by morning Meka would be arrested. She prayed he would lead them to Talon. It was not that she doubted him, but just days before agreeing to wear their ice crystal, he had appeared very convincing in his support for Vasily and Lukan.
It was why she had suggested to Axel that they introduce him to Anna’s twin, Farith. According to Anna, her sister had as lonely an existence growing up as Meka had. Lynx—and Anna—had hoped they would connect on some level. If Meka and Farith’s joint tattoos were anything to judge by, it seemed they’d gotten their wish. But would his obvious affection for the girl be enough to ensure Meka stayed on their side? Would Felix the snake buy Meka back with another glittery prize?
And as for Felix’s trustworthiness in this venture . . . She sighed, hating having to rely on a man renowned for his perfidy.
If all this wasn’t distressing enough, at this meeting, she had to show Talon to the world. That frightened her more than anything else. Although she’d agreed to call her son Nicholas in public, in her heart, he would always be Talon.
As much as she’d hated listening to Talon in that horrific dark cell, he had seemed stronger, abler to cope in the dark. Since Lukan and Felix had moved him to the sunlit conservatory, Talon—in his own words—had lost the will to live. Not even Lukan’s barbaric challenge with the fiddle seemed enough to rouse him.
It was thanks to the noise.
Lynx prayed daily that he would call Dmitri, but thus far, her heads
trong boy had rejected all thought of Dmitri when the seer’s name had popped up in his mind. As a mother, that almost broke her. As a leader of the alliance, it terrified her, because so much rode on her son. Lynx wasn’t sure how the self-serving, power-hungry monarchs she’d met over the last three days would react to a broken Son of Prophecy. It was not a fear she’d shared with anyone. Not even Axel.
Her father nudged her arm. “Relax, my Lynxie, Axel has this all under control. He’s been dealing with the monarchs for years.”
Good. Let her father think that was what worried her.
Resplendent in silks, velvet, and the finest furs, thirty-six kings and one queen streamed into Jerawin’s temple. Axel met the colorful procession at the door, shaking some hands, and patting others on the back. Lynx had watched his skilled diplomacy in wonder over the last few days as alliance airships had spirited the royals into Oldfort. Like everything her warlord did, he seemed to handle the petulant monarchs with aplomb that belied the frustration she knew he felt toward them.
As she’d watched the leaders feast and politic with each other, Lynx couldn’t help thinking that if their forefathers had stopped their petty quarrels after the first Burning and had presented a united front against Thurban Avanov when he’d attacked Norin, they could have halted the Avanovs’ expansionist dreams.
But their honor had failed them.
The empire had grown into a monolith so powerful it required a curse—and untold sacrifice by the boy who bore the burden of that prophecy—to have any hope of bringing it to its knees.
Would these leaders be any different?
The hair wrapped around Lynx’s finger cut into her skin. She unraveled it as she replied to her father. “The stakes have not been this high since Thurban invaded Norin. And this isn’t just Axel demanding more taxes from them. And they don’t know about the Burning planned for tonight, either.”
There would be no drawn-out wrangling with the monarchs today. Everything had been timed down to the minute. Stefan had promised to message them as soon as Lukan gave the command for the Dragon’s Fire to fly. It would take the drone three hours to reach Oldfort.