While he pours himself another cup, laughter spills from my chest, husky and quiet, a sound I haven’t uttered in years.
She’s gone. She’s finally gone.
I won’t ever have to lay eyes on her again. Won’t ever have to watch the way Tyndall looks at her, the way his gaze grows hungry every time she enters the room.
His precious little favored is gone, taken by his worst made-enemy, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
Victory is sweet.
I shake my head, almost unable to believe this turn of events. “They’re going to rip her to shreds,” I say, my tone tinged with thrill.
“Worse than the snow pirates,” Jeo agrees, finishing off another half cup of wine before passing it to me.
I take it from him and swallow a hearty gulp while he picks up the letter, amused eyes skimming over it. “Ha, the whiny bastards are mad! Lost the saddles to Fourth and their captain jumped ship with their gold too. Bad luck.”
“I’ll have Uwen send them a crate of gold to make it up to them,” I say. At Jeo’s surprised look, I shrug. “They’re glorified mercenaries. With enough coin to assuage them, I can keep them as allies.”
My saddle walks over and slips a hand around my waist. “My queen is viciously brilliant.”
I smile before taking another drink, then press the rim of the glass to his mouth. He watches me with heavy-lidded eyes as I tip it back, letting the rest of the drink slip into his mouth. As soon as it’s drained, he puts the cup on the desk and tugs me close with his hands on my hips.
I tilt my head, welcoming the hungry look in his expression. With that being all the invitation he needs, Jeo presses his mouth against my neck and starts peppering kisses and nips over the sensitive skin.
My eyes flutter closed as he trails up to my jaw, and when his lips meet mine, I let out a little moan of satisfaction, a fire stoking low in my belly.
I like the idea of fucking him while knowing that I’ve taken all of Tyndall’s favorite toys away. His favorite harem of saddles is gone, while mine cups my ass and grinds his length into me.
I slip my tongue against Jeo’s, and all I taste is sweetly spiced wine and wicked victory.
“Mmm, delicious,” he murmurs against my lips.
“The wine?” I ask with a coy smile.
“You,” he replies. “I love it when you get devious, but when those plots of yours succeed and you get that look about you? Makes me hard as a rock.”
To prove his point, he grinds his hips into my front, letting me feel the impressive length of him beneath the pleat of his pants. “I’m going to take you right now, my queen,” he says, teeth running over the edge of my ear. “Going to fuck you on your desk with that nefarious, devilish smile on your face.”
My stomach lurches with needy heat, with the thrill of his filthy words, with lust that was never mine before. I was always ignored, set aside.
No more.
“Make it good,” I order with an imperious purr before I reach down and cup him. He groans into my ear, and the sound makes me shiver with feminine power.
Jeo reaches down and picks me up, walking a couple paces before setting me on my desk. His hands reach beneath my skirts, the many layers bunching as he shoves them to my waist.
When his fingers brush against the wet curls at the apex of my thighs, he grins and nips at my lip. “Such a naughty queen.”
“Stop talking and fuck me.”
He laughs as he undoes the tie at his trousers, dropping them around his ankles. “At your service, Your Majesty.”
Jeo thrusts into me a second later, so hard that my body slides backwards against the wood. But it’s good. It’s what I want, what I ordered, and I shall have it.
He leans in, hands holding my hips in place as he moves in and out of me in powerful strokes. “Does this please my queen?” he asks, mouth pressing against my neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin.
It does, but I want more. I want all the things Midas never gave me.
I shove at Jeo’s chest. “Down.”
The side of his mouth quirks up, but he dutifully slips out of me before lying on the floor. The thrill of it, the power, the pleasure, it sings in my veins as I look down at him with hungry eyes.
Slipping off the desk, I stand over him, leg on either side, and I stare. Jeo groans when my sight lingers on his proud cock jutting up. “Please, my queen. Don’t be so cruel.”
I like when he begs.
Lifting my skirts, I bend my knees and lower myself slowly, sinking onto him just the way I like. A queen sitting on her throne.
Sweat beads on his brow, his hands tightening at my waist, but I continue to move unhurriedly, enjoying the friction of his hardness as it stretches me. I rise up and down with my head tilted back in bliss, grinding into him with decadence.
“Fuck, Your Majesty,” he grits out.
My entire body is singing as I take what I want, as I get the pleasure I went so long without. Never again. Never again will I sit idly by.
I will take what I want, whenever I want.
“Yes, you will,” Jeo says, letting me know that I spoke those thoughts aloud. “Take it fucking all, so long as you come on my cock.”
My throaty laugh cuts off when he thrusts his hips up into me, making him go deeper, harder, hitting that hidden part of me that I never knew was there before—not until him.
I take and take, letting it feed the hunger inside of me, the hunger that’s only satisfied with pleasure and power.
With a moan, he starts to relentlessly fuck me from beneath, while I ride my saddle for all he’s worth, rising higher to that unspeakable peak.
My pleasure cracks like splintered ice, and a breathy sigh of release crawls out of my throat. Three more grinding thrusts, and then Jeo curses with his release, his spend coating my insides with a foreign, wet heat.
Sagging on top of him, I let my nails score over the muscles of his chest, leaving red scratches on his freckled skin.
“Well?” he asks with a satisfied grin as he breathes hard, hands moving to prop behind his head. “Did I make it good, my queen?”
After another moment of catching my breath, I stand up, enjoying the groan he emits as I slip off him. “You did well enough,” I say breezily as I walk toward the door that leads to my bedroom and washroom. “But I require you to wash me and clean up your mess.”
A second later, I hear him get up, feet padding after me. Hot lips appear at my ear as he grabs my hips. “Only if I can do it with my tongue.”
A smirk crosses my face. “You’ll do whatever your queen orders you to.”
I get rewarded with his laugh. “Yes, Your Majesty, I will.”
And so will everyone else.
Chapter 27
AUREN
I waste hours lying on my pallet, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
The coals burn down darker and darker until the black husks go from fuming red to sobered ash, the last of the warmth gripped in the fist of the cold night air.
With the dimming burn, my thoughts coalesce.
Ever since Commander Rip took me from the Red Raids, I’ve been waiting for him to do something horrible, for his soldiers to tear me apart.
Except he hasn’t, and they don’t.
Instead, I’ve been treated with dignity. Friendly, even. I’ve been allowed freedoms that not even Midas would give me.
But loyalty, that single word and moral, that conviction I hold onto so tightly, that’s what’s at stake. I’m terrified what will happen if I falter.
I know I can’t fully trust Rip. I know this, but...
But.
Maybe, I can’t fully trust Midas either.
The moment that traitorous thought slips out, I realize I’ve spoken it aloud. It’s a whispered confession, a sorrowful revelation for only the waning warmth of the coals to hear.
I sit up in my pallet and pull on my dress, the thing loose
and overly worn now, dirty no matter how many times I try to wash it by hand. I slip on my torn coat and pull on my boots, deciding to walk around since sleep is eluding me.
I haven’t seen Rip since our argument last night.
I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. Except I feel like he’s avoiding me, punishing me, and it’s twisting me up inside.
Ducking out of the tent, I’m greeted by the crunch of my boots on fresh snow. We’re camped beside a small frozen lake tonight, and it glistens beneath a crescent moon.
Without really meaning to, I find myself walking to the east side of camp, where the saddles are.
I stop outside of the tent, noting the same two guards who let me visit when Lu was with me. They look up from their game—cards this time.
The one nearest me with brown hair raises his brows in surprise. “My lady,” he greets. “Haven’t seen you for a few days.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, not giving an explanation. “Is it alright if I visit them?”
“It’s late,” the other one says. “But you can stay for a few minutes. I heard some of them whispering in there, so I know they’re awake.”
I nod and move toward the tent flaps, but before I can lift them, someone pushes out and blocks my path.
I flinch back at her sudden appearance. “Polly.”
Her blonde hair is in two thick braids, though it’s tangled and greasy, and she looks thinner than usual. No golden flecks of makeup to adorn her face, no fancy dress, no coy smile. She looks weary, yet there’s a hardness in her eyes.
“Gild,” she says back, crossing her arms. “What are you doing here?”
I shift on my feet at the tone of her voice. “Umm, I just wanted to visit. See how you guys are doing.”
“We’re fine,” she snaps.
My eyes flick to the tent she’s blocking and back to her face. “Is there something wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Everyone heard your voice out here, but they sent me out. You can’t come in.”
My brow falls into a frown. “Why not?”
Her blue eyes hold no warmth as she looks at me. “No one wants to see you.”
I flinch at her embittered tone.
I feel the soldiers on my right shift on their stools, like they’re embarrassed for me, which only makes my cheeks burn in shame.
“You need to stop coming here,” Polly says haughtily. “We don’t like you, and we don’t want you poking your nose in our business just for you to report back to your new Fourth army friends.”
“What?”
Polly rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Like we don’t know? You get to walk around freely, Auren. We know you’ve turned into the commander’s little whore.”
My mouth drops open in shock, and for a moment, my brain stumbles, unable to process. “That’s... I am not his whore.”
The bored look on her face tells me she doesn’t believe me at all. “The soldiers here talk, you know. You stay in his tent every night. We aren’t stupid, and we won’t let you use us to betray our king. Don’t come back again, traitor.”
She shoves me in the chest.
It’s not a hard push, but it shocks me so much that I stumble back, mouth gaping wide. She never would have touched me before. She wouldn’t have dared.
The guards are on their feet in an instant, stepping forward to intervene. “Enough of that,” the man barks at her. “Get back inside.”
Polly’s eyes flash in vindication, like their reaction just solidified my treason. With a hateful smirk, she turns and pushes back into the tent, leaving me to stare at the place she just was.
I can’t even look at the guards as I turn away, my shame and embarrassment battering me. It makes my shoulders slump and my head tilt down, a flower wilted, given up on the reach.
“Don’t worry about them, my lady,” one says.
Quickly nodding, I walk away before I do something stupid, like cry in front of them.
Bitter shame carries the weight of my footsteps as I go.
I hug the shadows while I walk, ears tuned to the quiet of the sleeping camp of soldiers, who apparently believe I’m Rip’s whore.
Don’t come back again, traitor.
Tears threaten to rise, but I shove them down; let them be swallowed in a well of anger instead. Polly’s venomous words are my fears spoken aloud—of my loyalty slipping, of my mind being tainted.
I’m not a traitor.
I’m not.
Determination sweeps over me, fuels me. Like coals suddenly burning to life again.
The glowing white of the moon is now a fingernail behind a cloud, though two stars hover at her side like fireflies caught in the wax of her crescent.
I have just enough light to see, but not too much to take away the shadows. Perfect for searching without being seen. With sure steps and fierce eyes, with Polly’s accusation burning my ears, I follow pure instinct, like I know exactly where to go. Or maybe it’s the firefly goddesses directing my way.
Just as I pass a large group of huddled horses, heads bent, eyes dozing, I hear it.
A soft screech.
I jerk to a stop, head tilting, ear cocked. The noise comes again, quieter this time, but that’s all I need to home in on its direction.
My feet turn, steps and pulse quickening. Despite how consumingly cold it is, a flush spreads over my body.
Just past the horses, nearly obscured by a cart full of hay bales, I see it.
Covered in sleek black wood, sides unadorned, I hear rustling within the small black carriage and nearly break out into a run. Instead, I force myself to walk the rest of the distance toward it.
I reach the transport, though instead of doors on the sides, it has a smaller opening at the back. I look around, but the only movements are the occasional huff or shift of the horses, their quiet breaths puffing from lowered noses.
Lifting a hand, my shaky fingers grasp the handle, and the door opens easily, without so much as a creak. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and see what’s inside, but as soon as they do, triumph tosses me up into the air, making my stomach dip.
Staring back at me with reflective yellow eyes, with talons gripping their perches, is what I’ve been searching for.
The army’s messenger hawks.
Chapter 28
AUREN
It’s dark inside the carriage, but the flash of eyes and the movement of their shadowy figures reveals the four hawks inside.
It’s a testament to their training, because they don’t startle or snap, they just look at me with boredom.
Even in the shadows, I can see that they’re gorgeous birds, large for their breed. Their tawny feathers carry a sheen that extends to their sharp beaks and feet.
I note their perches built into the walls, the bones of dead rodents picked clean amongst the brush at the floor. Above, there’s an open window cut into the wood, allowing the hawks to come and go, letting faint moonlight in.
Swallowing, I glance down at the flat surface in front of me, the wood extended out like a desk, perfect for mobile message writing. Everything I need is here, right down to rolled bits of blank parchment stuffed into holes, bottles of ink and feathered quills set into indentations at the front.
I look around me again, but all is still and quiet.
Turning back to the desk, I reach forward and grab a roll of parchment, tearing off a small strip. I flatten it out, using a bottle of ink to keep the edge down, and then lift the quill, dipping it in.
My hand is trembling so badly that I nearly overturn the bottle, but I manage to catch it before it can tip.
“Get it together, Auren,” I whisper to myself.
Pressing the metal nib against the parchment, I write quickly, sloppily, my handwriting so much worse than its usual drawl. But it’ll have to do, because I’m in too much of a rush, too shaken on adrenaline and fear. My message is overly simple and hasty, but it’s the best I can do.
&n
bsp; Fourth’s army has captured me and the others. They’re marching on you. Prepare.
—Your Precious
I drop the quill back in its holder and find a box of fine sand in the desk. I pinch a bit of the powder between my fingers and toss it over the wet words to speed up the set of the ink.
As soon as it’s dry enough not to smear, I start to roll up the paper, but freeze at the sound of approaching soldiers.
“You got any smokes left?” a gruff voice asks.
“Yeah. In my fuckin’ pocket, and you’re not gettin’ any of them.”
“Aw, fuck off. I need a smoke.”
There’s a sigh, and then the footsteps stop, and I hear the distinct sound of a match striking.
There are only the two of them from the sound of it, but they’re several paces away, coming up the other side of the hawk’s carriage. If they head for the horses, I’ll be caught.
Biting my lip, I stare down at the rolled paper in my hand. I could flee right now, take the letter with me, and try to come back again.
But this might be my only chance.
Heart pounding, sweat collecting in beads at the back of my neck, I lean in and reach for the perch post inside the carriage.
The soldiers are talking, a few coughs to go with their smoke, but I focus, trying not to panic. Opening my hand, I show the hawk the parchment, hoping it’s as well trained as it appears to be.
The largest hawk snaps its beak at the others, as if claiming the job, and then jumps down from its higher perch. Landing at the post near my hand, the bird immediately turns so I can reach its legs.
Thank the Divine.
I grasp the empty metal vial attached to its right leg and pop open the cap. Left for north and right for south.
The soldiers start walking again, and my eyes flare with alarm, making me nearly drop the damn letter. I manage to keep hold of it and stuff it into the vial, and as soon as it’s in, I snap the top back on with the pad of my thumb.
The hawk stretches its leg, as if noting which direction to fly, and then it expertly launches itself up, flying out through the open window cut into the ceiling and flapping into the sky.
Glint (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 2) Page 19