by A. K. Koonce
My eyes flash open, the dagger burning against my calf from its safe place within my right boot.
Cormac tilts his chin up at me, his wide eyes searching mine. His dark hair tips down toward his long lashes, almost touching his beautiful eyes. A feeling swirls in my chest, a dangerous and lust filled feeling.
His gaze burns across my features, taking in my thoughts as if I’m speaking them out loud.
“Cohen and Cason left to get more paper,” he blurts like an eager confession.
My fingers grip the table as I push my chair back, a scraping sound dragging through the large empty room. With my heart pounding, I walk around the table to him, my boots carrying me mindlessly closer to the beautiful man.
He drops his feet to the ground, no longer holding his lazy posture as he sits up straight, but before he stands I slide my leg over his lap. His breath catches as I settle against him, straddling his lean hips.
His warm hands skim up my thighs, bunching over my smooth gown, gripping my hips before dipping down past my lower back and holding me against him. Carefully and precisely he explores my body. I feel his heart thrash into my own chest as I lean into him and I feel his hardness pressing perfectly against me.
“Shit, Wrenley,” he says in a strained whisper that flutters through the library.
With more brashness than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, I press my lips to his. No more than a second passes before he fists my hair in his hands, holding me to him.
Cormac feels like strength wrapped up in smooth beauty and right now I’m in control.
I shift against him, rubbing deliciously against the bulge in his pants. He moans into my mouth, parting my lips as his tongue slips against mine. He drags his hips up slowly, rocking against my center.
As if my confident thoughts are not my own, I run one hand up beneath his shirt, my fingers drifting along his lean chest. I push against the fabric of his white shirt until he reaches back and pulls it off, my hand roaming freely against his smooth muscles. My other hand slips down my calf, gripping the hilt of the dagger tightly in my palm. A reassuring feeling swirls within me at the feel of the metal.
He kisses me deeper, his fingers running down my body. With smooth movements he pushes my dress up, his warm hands sending a shiver across my skin as he holds the underside of my bare thighs.
With swift and agile moves, he stands and sets me on the table in front of him as if I’m weightless. The pile of books at my side teeters before tumbling to the ground. A loud thud and dust fume through the room but neither of us pause to notice.
He runs his fingers up my bare shoulders and presses a slow kiss to my mouth, pulling back with a heartbreaking smile against his lips.
“Fuck, you’re amazing.” His hooded eyes drift from mine, taking in the sight of the dagger poised in my palm above his shoulder blade. He blinks a few times in confusion, before slowly taking a step back from me, a chill crawls down my spine without his warmth surrounding me. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asks in a calm voice.
I don’t believe Cormac’s felt anxiety in his entire life. Not even now. Not even when he should.
My arms feel numb and it takes a moment for me to notice the dagger in my right hand.
“I—I don’t know.”
“Are we interrupting something?” Cohen’s perfect smile falls the moment he sees the blade in my hand and the confusion on Cormac’s face.
“Wren, what are you doing?”
I shake my head until I finally release the dagger, letting it clatter to the ground. My knees pull to my chest and I wrap my arms tightly around them.
Cohen takes careful steps, passing his brother, his gaze drifting to Cormac’s shirt on the ground. Hesitantly he pulls me against his chest, holding my fragile body in his strong arms.
“It’ll be okay,” he says into my hair as my lashes become wet. Tears slip down my cheeks. I breathe hard, staring at the weapon on the tile floor like it might kill me all by itself.
Maybe it will.
Chapter Sixteen
A Mistake
Cormac
She’s successfully avoided me for days. My stomach’s in knots that are bound so tightly I can barely eat anything.
A dark shadow blankets my body as I lurk in the hall like a fucking creep. Lord Turningten holds her hand tightly in his, his skin appearing sickly in the dim lighting.
“I’m glad you got to spend the day with me.”
Seriously? Like he’s some fucking prize that she’s lucky to spend time with.
I hate him more and more each time he speaks.
“Me, too.” She nods with a tense smile, her eyes holding something similar to misery in them.
He leans into her and her back hits the door. I take a single step towards them before I stop myself.
What the hell am I thinking?
His spine stiffens as he stares down at her before pressing a long kiss to her temple.
“Good night, my love.”
If words could cause sickness, I’d be throwing up right now.
I roll my eyes at his back as he stalks back downstairs. His gait is smooth with long strides. He holds the confidence of a man who has more than he deserves.
Her shoulders slump the moment he’s out of sight and she’s alone. Or so she thinks.
“Wren,” I whisper, my voice scurrying through the dark hall. She startles, her shoulders hitting the door once more.
My boots feel heavy and weighted as I step out from my hiding spot, my hands held loosely at my sides.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She swallows, a half smile forcing to her lips.
I hate the way she’s looking at me. The false look she gives everyone in this kingdom is now poised at me and it breaks me in half, shatters my existence. It fucking destroys me.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
She the furthest thing from fine right now and I know it. She’s strong and I love that about her but she has to know she can lean on me.
Let me help you.
Long steps carry me to her and I slip my palms up her jaw, tilting her face up to me.
My heart thrashes, thoughts of my lips on hers skim my mind but all I can do is study her features. The soft curve of her down turned lips. The thin line that’s creasing her delicate brows as she watches me.
“What happened the other day,” I pause, her green eyes appearing depthless as I look into her beautiful face, “you know that wasn’t your fault, right?”
She blinks rapidly, not meeting my gaze as her attention shifts to the tile floor.
“I’m sorry, Cormac. I don’t know what came over me. It was just a mistake.”
My heart cracks painfully in my chest.
“The dagger or the kiss?”
The kiss? Like it was just a kiss. Like it means nothing to me. Like I wouldn’t have fucked her on top of ancient and irreplaceable textbooks without thinking twice about it.
My fingers slip from her, my hands pushing safely into my pockets. I try to disengage from her, to put space between us but I can’t. Not touching her is as much as I’m capable of.
“The… dagger.” A red hue tints her cheeks as she peers up at me from beneath her dark lashes. “Do you hate me?”
My brows cock high. I could never hate her. She could have killed me in that library and I still would be thinking about her naked even in the afterlife.
“I could never hate you, Princess.” My voice dips low, my breath fanning her face. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t look so sad.”
My heart dips but her frown remains in place. Almost desperately, I run my fingers up the inside of her arm, needing to touch her. The feel of her soft skin against mine grounds me, makes my blood hum through my veins.
“The other guards are talking about a ball that’s being held this weekend.” I try to change the subject, I tilt my head until she’s forced to look at me again. “Will you be at the ball?”
“It’s for you.”
“What?”
“The ball, Cormac. It’s a remembrance ball held for the Royal Ryken family that went missing.”
“Huh, I always wanted someone to hold my balls in my honor.”
She smirks, a quite laugh shaking through her small frame. My heart booms to life at the sight of her smile.
I want to spend my whole life trying to make this woman smile. Or at least about a hundred days, whichever’s longer…
Chapter Seventeen
Happily Ever After
Wren
“I'm feeling brave tonight,” I announce to Hazel as I push open her bedroom door. She rarely ever stays the night but that doesn’t stop her from having one of the most luxurious rooms here.
She’s lounging across a plush red chair, the sleeves of her black lace nightgown draping over her, book in hand.
“You're feeling brave?” She asks closing the small novel.
The longer I’m around the guys the more I want to be more than I’m instructed to be. I want to be… myself.
“Yes. Can I borrow a dress for tonight? I'm not wearing that blue frilly thing Daddy picked out.”
“Um, yes!” She squeals jumping up out of the seat and clapping her hands together. “Do you have something in mind? Wanna show some... cleavage?” Hazel shimmies as she says the last word.
Oh dear God. Maybe I'm not brave… okay, no… yes I am. I can do this.
“Maybe not cleavage...” I reply and cover my warm cheeks with my hands.
She steps forward pulling my hands away from my face, frowning at my embarrassment.
“Do you know what your boy toys are wearing? Wanna match?” She continues, the skirt of the gown swaying as she steps towards her wardrobe.
“Boy toys? Please don't call them that. And won't they just be in the guard uniform?”
Hazel sighs, “Wren, you are so uninformed. The guards are required to dress accordingly this year. ‘Blending with the guests.’”
Watching her thumb through her gowns, throwing fabrics out to lay across the nearest seat, I grimace at the sight, each one with less and less material.
Is that even a dress? That looks like lingerie.
“How do you know what they are wearing?” I question.
Her smirk is enough to tell me but she continues, “I'm friends with a few of the guards.”
Nodding, I grin at my cousin. Of course, she has friends.
“Oh my God. I have found the one.”
Golden fabric seems to drip from her palms as she holds it out for me to see.
I am going to be brave. I repeat with certainty.
***
I stand, waiting to make my entrance to the ball. My nerves boil over and I wring my hands tightly, tinting my skin pink. I am brave. I can do this. I am brave. I can do this. I chant on repeat while I wipe my sweaty palms on the flawless dress.
Hazel was right. The dress looks great and does a wonderful job showing off the curves my father prefers I hide. The gold fabric hangs off my shoulders with pieces that drape onto my arms. The bodice lays tight against my flat stomach before falling away over my legs revealing the top of my thigh in a high slit.
My hair is neatly parted and gathered at the nape of my neck in a perfect bun. Only a few strands have been pulled forward to frame my face.
Music is already playing in the ballroom, the tune calming my soul. I push open the door and begin my descent into the chaos. Even though I'm worried I might faint, I hold my head high. Just as a princess should.
I can feel all eyes on me, especially my father’s. His stare burns a hole right through me. His glare makes his anger apparent on his face as soon as he sets his eyes on me. I merely smile, carefully taking each step with a fake confidence. The soft clicking of my heels is all I can focus on.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lord Nash stands with his hand out waiting for mine in a light blue suit that would have matched the dress Daddy had approved of. Looking over him, I scan the crowd for the boys, who I don't see.
Reaching the bottom step, I take Nash’s sweaty grasp and allow him to bring me to the dance floor. My honorary first dance of the night.
I know the dance so well I don't have to put much thought into the moves. The swishing of my dress fills my thoughts. Nash leads in a stream of stiff uncomfortable movements.
Frowning, my eyes trail through the crowd for any signs of anyone I'd actually care to talk to.
Hazel is gorgeous, of course, in a bright red dress, showing off her cleavage. I'm entertained by the fact that she has Cormac backed into a corner and is attempting to work her charm on him. He seems as if perhaps he doesn't know what to do with all that is Hazel Hazlitt. For once there’s someone more confident than he is.
Smiling, my thought is interrupted by Lord Nash clearing his throat. My lips fall momentarily before I plaster my fake smile on. My mouth is pulled tight, my mind fully aware of every muscle putting effort into this false happiness.
“Princess Wrenley, I would like to hope that as your betrothed, this dress was meant as a surprise for me.” His face is blank as he speaks.
The smallest smile tenses my lips. I bite back every angry word in my mind. My thin lips hurt from the force I’m putting into simply smiling at him.
It’s all I can manage.
Always the good girl. Always the lady he expects me to be.
It's hard enough to give him my attention when my mind is elsewhere but to play along as if I'm excited about him being my betrothed makes nausea wave over my body. I'd like to take a moment of silence to mourn my future. I think sarcastically.
Each step we take is forced. Both of us playing our parts in the theatre called our lives. As the song ends he pulls me close, his hand pressing firmly against my back. I hold in my gasp as his other hand painfully closes around my wrist.
“I don't know what kind of game you are playing. But I suggest you knock it off before I place a chastity belt on you.” His whisper is harsh and it rings in my ear.
Hold it together, Wren.
My lips turn further upward in the mask I may never get to take off. I nod before speaking.
“If you would excuse me, Lord Nash.”
Yanking my hand from his grasp, I curtesy stiffly before turning from him towards the room of onlookers, fighting the frustration and tears that threaten me.
A long breath escapes my lips as I attempt to straighten my skirt while walking out of the ballroom. My eyes feel heavy and I bite at my lip to keep the tears from welling over. Lord Nash. Lord freaking Nash. I’m nothing to him. Nothing but a title.
This ball. A night that should be full of so much fun. But here I am, trying to escape the meaningless drone and awkward “grace” of Lord Nash.
On the balcony, it’s much quieter, just the soft hum of the music and the click of my heels against concrete as I step closer to the edge. A shift of the shadows behind me send my dress swishing around my ankles as I turn too quickly. I catch myself against the cool stone of the railing overlooking the beach and its powerful waves.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His words are just a whisper. Always the silent type.
My fear quiets as I look over Cason, his large physique somehow concealed within his all black suit. He looks quite... debonair.
Cason walks towards me, his steps making no noise at all. His features are soft and his gaze lays almost heavy on my skin. A flush begins riding up my neck and kissing my cheeks as I stare right back into his eyes that reflect the starlight behind me.
“I’m fine, Cason,” I answer. “Are you hiding from the party? Not much of a dancer?” My lips tug upward into a smile that is the first meaningful expression I've made tonight.
“Perhaps I’m hiding, but only as much as you are.” Strands of his chestnut hair begin to whirl in the breeze that sends my own tidy strands off in disarray.
Small chuckles escape me. He is right. I am out here to hide, aren’t I?
“I suppose you do
have a point.”
He steps closer to me, his warmth seeping into my body.
“Are you not much of a dancer?” We are now standing so close our breath mingles into one cloud before our faces.
“I love to dance. I love this song actually.” I shrug trying to be casual, bringing my arms around myself to fight against the goosebumps that rise from the chilly fall winds.
Cason nods and begins shaking off his jacket. “Here, Princess. May I?” He steps behind me offering his jacket.
I nod and slide my arms into the sleeves, warmed with his heat. The length of the jacket sits so long on my tiny frame that I would think I look like a child wearing it.
Cason doesn’t treat me like a child, though. He doesn’t look at me like I’m young and naive.
His look is the opposite actually. He looks at me too often with too much emotion, making his feelings flood into me, stirring my chest with butterflies.
“And if I may offer this as well?” He bows slightly before extending his hand to me.
I stare at his fingertips waiting for mine in the cold, taken aback by the surprise of this kind, quiet man. Gently, I place my hand in his grasp. Forgetting the terrible thing that was me and my betrothed moments before. We stand together for a minute, only the hushed tune of the song filling our silence.
His movements are swift and confident as he whisks me close to his body, a large hand softly cupping my waist. The warmth of our bodies makes me forget about the biting chill of the winds.
Just in time with the pickup in the music he steps and I follow. Continuing to be surprised by the grace of a man his size, I laugh out loud.
A smile finally breaks his full lips as he looks down to me. We continue on, moving, flowing, and becoming one person, one performance. I lay my head against his shoulder. Our hips fit snug pushed against each other. His impressive length becoming apparent against my leg.
Softly, as if he was singing an infant to sleep, his baritone voice lifts and lulls with the tune of the music in the other room. “She is grace in wake of my chaos, she is my all in all. How do I carry on without her? How do I keep my heart from the fall?”