by M. J. Scott
Because at the first taste of him, something wild roared through her veins and burned every ounce of sense and self-preservation away to ash.
He pulled her closer with one hand, fingers gripping tight. The other hand slapped against the wall, sparking a ward to life with a thrust of power that probably wasn't particularly subtle.
She didn't care about subtle. She wanted him.
She was going to damn well have him.
Somehow they moved across the room, until his legs hit the bed and he tumbled backward, pulling her with him. She landed atop warm, hard male and nearly purred with the pleasure of it as their kiss grew more frantic. They kissed and rolled, and for a time, she wasn't sure which way was up or down or even who she was anymore.
Until she found herself on top of him, half kneeling, staring down at him as both of them gasped for breath. Did she look as shocked and lust drunk as he did? She suspected she did.
Good.
He reached for her, and she held up a hand. He froze obediently, which made her smile. "No," she said. "My way."
"Whatever the hell way you want," he breathed and raised his hands to grip the iron bed frame. Maybe he only meant to prove that he would behave himself. But there was something nearly irresistible about the thought of him beneath her, at her mercy. She undid his cravat with a few fast tugs and, when he made no move to object, tied his hands in place.
His eyes were wide, pupils blown so that all she would have been able to see, had there been more light than the fire, would have been a thin rim of that wild wicked green. That window into the true heart of the man. The one he kept hidden beneath the layers of truth and duty and control.
She pressed her hips down harder, felt him there, hard beneath her. Let the sensation run through her. But it wasn't enough. She fumbled with her skirts, pulling the ridiculous lengths of fabric out of the way so she could get to his breeches. Get her hands on what she wanted. His cock was hot under her fingers as she freed it and positioned herself to slide against the length of him.
He felt so good, the jolt of pleasure so fierce, that she tipped her head back, closing her eyes to chase the feeling.
"Open your eyes," he said, the words rough and heavy. His heart was pounding under her hands, the beat vibrating up through her skin, joining the shivers of light and power. She pressed deeper against him, and he hissed.
"Goddess damn it, Chloe," he growled. "You can hate me, you can use me if you want. But you will open your eyes. No pretending it's somebody else inside you."
Her eyes flew open. "That wasn't—"
"I don't care about was or wasn't," he said. "But you will look at me while you fuck me."
His fingers tightened around the length of material stretched between his wrists and the bed frame. The muscles in his throat were tense, his pupils wild and dark and dangerous. He was hot and heavy between her legs, and all she had to do was move a little and he would be inside her.
She did hate him. Or she should. She was trying to remember why. Or why she should care if she did. "You said you wouldn't use your powers on me."
"I'm not," he groaned, hips pressing upward. "Chloe...."
She hated him, but her body didn't hate the sound of her name on his lips when he said it like that.
Like a prayer and a curse all in one. Like he might die if she didn't grant him what he wanted. Her body wanted back, and she lifted her hips and found him and slid back down, letting him fill her as she stared down at him.
The noise he made was hungry, and his fingers twitched again. If his voice could make her forget herself, make her want him so badly, what might his hands do if she set him free? Let him take off her dress and his clothes. Let him touch her all over. Let him kiss her again.
But no. That way was madness. She wanted sex. Wanted pleasure. For some insane reason, she wanted it with him, but it had to be only that and nothing more. So. He wanted her to see him. She would give him that while she took what she wanted.
A roll of her hips to lift her up and slide her back down. Another noise from his throat and then her name breathed like an invocation.
She moved again and again, watching him all the way, falling down into the depths of that wild green gaze. There was nothing else. His eyes and the feel of him inside her and the frantic need that drove her faster and harder against him, the pleasure true and deep and overwhelming. Sweeping her away. Sweeping the past that lay between them away. Sweeping all before it, to let her be free.
Lucien moved with her, raced with her toward oblivion. Until both of them reached the edge, and she broke over him with his name on her lips and he came with a shout.
When she came back to herself, she was slumped on his chest, sweaty and satisfied, a pleasant ache that started to turn to hunger again as she lifted her head.
Lucien was watching her again. And she liked the look on his face.
"Had enough?" he asked, one brow arching at her.
She could lie. Send him away. Or she could tell the truth. That she wanted him again.
"No," she breathed and reached to untie his hands.
When she woke, glowing stars danced around the room above her. She blinked, entirely uncertain where she was or what was happening, until she registered the weight of another on the mattress behind her.
Lucien.
Goddess. The things they had done.
Her face went hot at the memories. Worse, her body sparked back to life, hungry for more.
"I know you're awake," he said.
She resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head and hide. She had slept with Lucien. Though, to be honest, until they'd both collapsed, panting and exhausted, there'd been little sleep involved.
Willing herself to be calm, she rolled to face him. He was sitting up, propped against several pillows. His cravat still dangled from the bed frame, and she pretended the sight didn't make her hungrier still for him. He held one hand out, palm up, and the stars streamed upward from it, filling the room with the night sky as they danced.
"What are you doing?"
"It's an illusion," he said. "I'm not just a Truth Seeker, after all."
"I know that." She waved a hand at the stars. They were heartstoppingly beautiful. Almost as heartstoppingly beautiful as the sight of him naked and draped in her rumpled sheets.
"I do this when I'm happy. I don't get much chance to just play with illusions these days."
He was happy?
Why? He had to know what was coming next. She would send him back to his own bed and try to forget this had ever happened. But she couldn't quite open her mouth to send him away just yet. Not when he made stars dance for her.
He'd made stars dance for her in other ways, too. He'd taken her at her word when she'd said she hadn't had enough. Had freed his hands with a quick tug, then scooped her up and carried her over to the fireplace. He'd had her there on the rug, and bent over the table, and back in the bed before he was done. And she'd loved it. Had demanded more each step of the way. She was honest enough to admit that. He had known exactly how to light her body on fire.
Which seemed unreasonably unfair.
Goddess. Why him?
"You need to go," she managed, clinging to sanity and the last shreds of dignity. "It will be light soon. No one can see you leaving my room."
He shrugged, and the lights died. Their loss made her heart clench.
"This doesn't change anything," she said as he climbed out of bed and found his clothes.
"You still hate me, you mean?" he said. "Well, if that's what you do with men you hate, then I'm happy to be hated."
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it and laughed. Then busied himself tugging on his boots while she pulled the covers around her shoulders, aware that she was still naked while he was not. When he was dressed, he straightened. Tossed the pillow back to her.
"Let me know if you need to hate me again," he said. "I'm more than happy to be of service." Then he walked out the door and left her lying in the dar
k.
Two days after the wedding, Chloe found herself gathered with half the court, Lucien, Honore, Gilles, and Theo for the traditional post-wedding hunt. Chloe hadn't ridden regularly for years and had tried to wriggle out of the event, but she lacked a decent excuse, and Irina, who had appeared at her door the first evening following the wedding with a tea she insisted would be good for a hangover, had promised her a quiet horse.
How Irina had known Chloe was pretending to have a hangover to avoid dealing with Lucien was a mystery she hadn't tried too hard to solve. Either Allita had talked or Giane had gone seeking advice from the healers after Chloe had lied to her about being ill. Either way, it didn't matter. She'd avoided Lucien for the first day after their—
No, she didn't want to think about it.
Every time she thought about it, she felt him again. Tasted his mouth on hers, knew the bite of his fingers, the rush of pleasure as he moved beneath her or above her or behind.
Thinking about it was a very bad idea.
Though, when one hid in one's room, pretending to have the mother of all headaches, to avoid seeing the man one was trying not to think about, it left little else to do but think about him.
The second day, which was also a day devoid of any official events or diplomatic duties, she'd accepted an invitation from Irina to work in the stillrooms. Irina had only inquired how she was feeling, not teased her any more about Lucien as she had at the ball, and then put her to work. Chloe suspected she was working off some emotions of her own now that her sister truly had married the king and her new status had become irrefutable.
It had been a peaceful day, but now, on this third day, when the newlyweds would rejoin the court for the start of the month of festivities leading up to Katiya's coronation, it was back to work.
She stroked the nose of the dun gelding one of the stable hands had led over to her. He seemed friendly enough, accepting her patting with half-closed eyes. His name, she'd been informed, was Spetya. Near enough to “sleepyhead.” That was hopefully a good sign that Irina had kept her promise.
"He likes peppermints," Irina said, appearing out of the crowd, as she had a habit of doing. "They all do. The Herdmeister uses them in training." She fished in the pockets of the long jacket she wore over breeches and extracted a waxed paper bag. "Don't give him too many, but a few now will help you make friends."
"Thank you." Chloe extracted one sweet and offered it to the horse. He lipped it out of her hand and snorted appreciatively. Shoving the bag into her own pocket, she smiled at Irina. "Any other tips?"
"Stay near the back if you don't actually want to hunt. If something happens and you get separated, stay with your horse. They know their way back here. Or even to the city if worse comes to worse."
"I hope so, because I doubt I would." The day's quarry was apparently some breed of fierce wild pig that lived in one of the forest valleys. Which meant riding down off the mountain behind the city on what had to be some hair-raising paths. The fact that the Andalyssian women rode astride, in trousers, when they didn't wear them any other time was proof enough that the riding would be precarious. Maybe it wasn't too late to fake another headache?
"Also, keep your cloak on. You'll feel too warm sometimes, but the weather turns fast. You don't want to be fumbling in saddlebags for your cloak if a storm brews." As if to demonstrate her point, Irina fiddled with the ties of her own dark blue cloak, which matched her riding outfit, testing the security of the knot.
Chloe wore her black corps cloak, though her breeches were civilian brown wool and the longer jacket a darker green. The Andalyssians probably would be appalled if they knew it had been cut down from one of Jean-Paul's castoffs, but it had been the quickest way to provide her with a habit suitable for the northerner's sensibilities.
She stayed talking with Irina until everyone began to mount. The dun wasn't a large horse, so she managed that part easily enough, though it wasn’t her most graceful moment. If riding was going to be a regular part of her diplomatic duties, she would have to ask Imogene to ride with her sometimes once they were back in Lumia to sharpen her skills.
As she settled into the saddle, gathering the reins, she spotted Lucien's blond head near the front of the assembled riders. His horse—a long-legged gray—sidled in place, though he seemed to keep it under control easily enough, laughing at something the man next to him said. As though he felt her watching, he turned in the saddle, and their eyes met.
She couldn't look away. She wanted to, but the wave of wanting that swept over her as his eyes found hers froze her in place. The movement of the hunt saved her when Spetya started following the other horses and forced her to look ahead.
The ride down the mountain took even more concentration than she'd anticipated. Spetya gave her no trouble, but the road was terrifyingly narrow in parts and the drop off the mountain dizzying. It was a little like being on the navire again, seeing the ground recede and the next flat patch of land appear far below. Not a pleasant sensation. Though it didn't seem to worry any of the courtiers. They made small talk, calling good-naturedly back and forth as they rode. Most of the gentle teasing focused on the king and his new queen. Mikvel and Katiya seemed to take it in stride, which made her think it was all part of the ritual of the wedding.
It took nearly two hours to descend to the plateau where the actual hunt would take place. Grassy fields gave way to a dense forest of tall trees. Riding in forests, she recalled, wasn't often much easier than riding along hills. Given she had no desire to kill a pig, wild or not, the hunt seemed more another test to endure.
But first, lunch. On the very edges of the plateau, several large tents waited for them, along with a small army of servants to take care of horses and serve refreshments before they were all ushered into the tents to eat. Even so far from the city, fresh flowers festooned the tables and ceilings and ornate earth lamps provided light, reminding her that this was part of the wedding rituals despite the facade of a country picnic.
Sure enough, there were speeches and toasts and many, many courses, ending with a cake almost as large as the one served at the ball. The servants must have been up before dawn to have everything ready. The thought of riding or walking the mountain road in the dark made her feel vaguely ill, and she ate sparingly, not wanting to ride on a stuffed stomach. She did, however, sneak a few pieces of the toffee-and-nut confection they served with dessert into her pocket. That seemed easy enough to eat on horseback if she got hungry later on.
There was, thankfully, no sign of kafiet. There was plenty of tea, and some of it, she suspected, was laced with something alcoholic, as the men who drank it grew rowdier. But hers seemed unadulterated. It was warming and refreshing, but when she stood by Spetya, ready to remount, and realized she had already grown slightly stiff after the morning's riding, she wished she'd chosen something stronger.
Chapter 22
Lucien watched Chloe wince slightly, then mask the expression as she remounted. But there wasn't much he could do to ease her if she was sore, and after the last two days of her making every effort to avoid him completely, he doubted she'd appreciate any offer of help.
Charl had liked to ride, and Chloe had seemed to enjoy it when she rode with them, but riding the parks of the city or the de Montesse or de Roche estates was very different to the mountain terrain they were traversing. The forest would be easier, of course, but things could get wild in a hunt, and the valley ran back into the mountains on all sides.
He'd refused the Ilvsoir-laced tea, wanting to keep his wits about him. He'd hunted wild pigs before. Nasty beasts. Capable of injuring or even killing a horse or a man. He'd leave that part to the Andalyssians and try to stay back and observe. But he still had to take one of the long spears the servants were handing up to the riders and settle it into the niche formed in the saddle and harness straps to hold it in place. Most of the women didn't take one, Chloe included. Katiya did, positioning it in her saddle with practiced ease.
A fact to note
. She had played the sweet and amenable fiancée most of the time leading up to the wedding, but now that she was queen, perhaps she was going to let a little more of the spine he'd sensed beneath the smiles out. Which was good. She was a queen. She needed to rule. To be ruthless when required.
Chloe would make a good queen. She'd never had a problem standing up for herself.
The hunt moved off again. The morning’s sunshine had vanished, leaving them with skies much the color of his horse, the clouds low but fast moving. Storms rolled in quickly here in the mountains. The summer storms he’d witnessed during his first visit has demonstrated that, though thankfully he’d only seen them from the inside of the palace.
The others were still talking calmly as they rode toward the trees. Still, he reined in his horse, moving farther back in the pack to be closer to where Chloe rode with the women. Honore, Theo, and the others were all good riders from what he'd seen so far. They could take care of themselves.
The riders had barely made it past the tree line into the dappled light of the forest when the first boar lunged out onto the trail, startling the lead horses. The riders split quickly, one group, including the king and queen, giving chase as the boar plunged away into the undergrowth. Lucien’s horse snorted and danced in place, but he held him in check.
To his left, another series of crashing snorts heralded the arrival of another boar. The creature was large, mottled brown, and displeased to discover humans and horses in its territory. It charged at the nearest horses, and another chase began.
Two boars so close together suggested there were beaters in the forest, chasing the animals back toward the hunt. The pigs he'd hunted before had been shyer than these, though perhaps that was from living somewhere less wild.
He followed the rest of the hunt deeper into the woods, twisting in his saddle to check on Chloe. She was near the front of the remaining women, watching what was happening ahead. He turned back before she saw him. As he did so, he thought he heard thunder rumbling across the sky, but with the sound of the cheers and yells of the riders pursuing the two boars in the distance and twenty-odd horses moving around him, it was hard to be sure.