by Ada Harper
The overwhelmed look in Lyre’s eyes slowly faded, replaced by a glint of mischief that, for once, pleased Sabine. “You realize you’re pissing off half the senate right now.”
“Let them.” For once Sabine wasn’t the Spider Queen, powerful but trapped in the middle of her own web. She felt...free. The crown felt lighter, if it meant Lyre could shine like this. “So...?”
She felt the shiver and saw the smile as Lyre tipped her head back, eyes glittering with pleasure. “Yours. No getting rid of me now.”
“Then I have an order for you,” Sabine said, just to see the surprised blink. Gods, she loved looking at her. Lyre was glorious under crystal lights and jealous gazes. A giddy humor bubbled up, but Sabine managed not to laugh.
“Anything Your Majesty wants,” Lyre said. All suspicion. Fair.
Sabine’s hand slid up Lyre’s side, let Lyre twirl her again, and made her plan.
* * *
A soft kind of darkness pooled in the throne room. Lyre found it more comfortable than the party that had wound down hours ago. Now was the hour of soft things, caught somewhere between night festivities and morning regrets.
Right now, Lyre’s only regret was choosing the dais steps rather than nicking the plush pad off the throne. The suit jacket she’d shucked off to sit on was not up to the task. Cold stone was beginning to make her butt ache. Sabine was keeping her waiting. Sabine was making her wait. Rather than annoyed, Lyre felt a flush of intrigue. Her fingers found the smooth curve of the torque at her neck again.
Mated. Bond claimed with the entire Empire watching, or near enough to it. And hells, the tedious ceremony they’d have to go through still lay ahead. But all the fuss and nonsense would be worth it for Sabine. Lyre would do it. Forget whatever grand speeches she made in the ballroom, forget what Sabine had convinced the senate of, Lyre knew there was nothing she could offer that would ever compare to what Sabine was worth.
Lyre could live with that. She’d lie through her teeth and steal every precious moment of Sabine’s time she could. She’d guard the throne and Sabine’s happiness and die grateful that she found herself with the honor.
The door creaked. Lyre crooked her chin but didn’t need to see the silhouette of crimson to know it was Sabine. The pull in her chest eased as Sabine crossed the floor to her. Lyre smiled. “Lose your way, Sabs?”
“An empress is always on time,” Sabine said, a false loftiness and a real smile on her face. She came to a stop at Lyre’s step, close enough the floating petal of her dress brushed Lyre’s arm. “You’re certain we have privacy here?”
If she’d wanted privacy, she could have held a meeting in a hundred different estate rooms. But no. Secure the throne room for me, Sabine had whispered in her ear, absolute privacy. Lyre tried not to feel like she was being tested. “You think I’m such a crap spymaster I can’t secure a room? Doors are locked. Windows secured from even a peeping scout. No one’s here. No eyes, no bugs, not even CHARIS is listening. Happy?”
“You always make me happy,” Sabine murmured. She stepped back. “Stand.”
Lyre hopped to her feet. “So what’s u—oh.”
Without a word, Sabine tugged at a bow and unwound a long length of silky red fabric from her waist. Her dress came unmoored, shifting around her like a dream as she stepped forward. And held up the cloth. “I can’t surprise you, so I’ll ask: do you trust me?”
“Four most dangerous words created.” Lyre’s gaze switched quickly between the silk in Sabine’s hands and the puzzle of a smile on her lips. “Sabs—”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Of course, that was the only answer that was true.
Sabine moved with infinite grace and patience. Lyre stilled, something long instilled in her submitting to whatever wild idea her chosen liege had. Sabine circled her and gently dropped the silk over Lyre’s brow. Silk tightened over her eyes and Lyre felt her pulse speed up.
Sabine’s breath was a pleased hum at her ear. “Who are you?”
Lyre wet her lips, still holding still as a statue. “Just a spy.”
“Wrong.” It was emphasized by a pinch at her waist that made Lyre grumble. She felt Sabine sigh. “I suspected this would be the hardest part.”
Lyre was aware of the chill on her skin, the warm hand that moved slowly down the buttons of her shirt and hesitated at the top of her trousers.
Sabine rested her forehead against Lyre’s. “Convincing you that you’re worthy.”
“I’m—” Lyre took in a short breath as Sabine ran her hand up Lyre’s shirt. “I’m not the one you had to convince.”
“Wrong.” This time Sabine’s nails raked just under the curve of Lyre’s breast. The dress shirt fell off Lyre’s shoulders and Sabine’s hand guided her back a step.
“Shi—Sabs. Not that I’m complaining at all, but what you are doing?”
“Releasing you from service.” Sabine’s fingertips teased at the new revealed flesh as she guided Lyre backward up the dais steps. Then dropped down and slid the waist of Lyre’s pants down over her hips. “Making you royal. Anointing you.”
“What—”
“No more questions, unless you’re telling me what you want.” Something chill hit the back of Lyre’s thighs. “On the throne.”
Above the rush of heat to every inconvenient part of her body, Lyre’s mind froze. “I—You want—On your throne—I can’t, it wouldn’t—”
“If you say proper I will throw you in the dungeon until you tell me what you’ve done with the real Lyre.” Sabine pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Trust me.”
Lyre had trained to survive every kind of torture, but that simple kiss successfully overrode her thought processes. Her knees buckled.
“I didn’t say sit, love.” Sabine’s voice sounded uneven and it stirred in Lyre’s chest, flaring into heat at the next word. “Kneel.”
Obeying Sabine was second nature, and Lyre’s pulse was currently plucking long-buried desires out of her brain. It took some maneuvering, but eventually she managed to kneel on the seat of the throne, knees at the edge, shoulders tilted against the back for support. The chill air of the empty room pricked at her nipples. It felt profane. It felt sacred.
Above her, Sabine let out a breath that was long and aching. “Gods, you are a treasure.”
“Not how most would describe me.”
“No.” Sabine made a pleased hum. “I’ll show you off to the world, but not like this. This is only for me.”
It sent a chill up her neck. The fine muscles in Lyre’s thighs twitched. A plush velvet pad protected her knees but her skin felt hot against where the cool metal of the throne bit in. She fidgeted, and Sabine clicked her tongue. “Hands. On the throne.”
The flush of heat was like a shock and Lyre grabbed the arms of the throne before she could think. “Whatever you want.”
A giggle in response, then heat skimmed over one nipple then the other. Sabine’s breath, but that was all. The wait was painful. The wait was delicious. Lyre cursed, and she felt the smile that formed as Sabine kissed her neck.
“What I want, right now, is to take apart the strongest, most dazzling woman I know until she’s begging for me.” Sabine dropped her lips lower. “And break her apart on my own throne.”
The whine that escaped Lyre’s throat was broken by a shiver of need.
“Like that.” Sabine laved a tongue over the spot of Lyre’s collarbone that she knew was sensitive. She trailed her lips up over the precise path of her neck that she had to know would set Lyre’s senses alight. “Just like that.”
A rustle of fabric, and in her mind’s eye Lyre could see yards of red silk fall to the floor. Sabine’s heat pressed close, hands stroking, taunting slow circles as she took a deep, demanding kiss that stole Lyre’s breath. It ended with a bite that didn’t seem quite as reverent. “My spy.”
&
nbsp; A fire was shivering under Lyre’s skin. When Sabine replaced her hands with her lips on Lyre’s breasts, her whimper echoed against the throne room walls. Gods, she was glad she hadn’t cut corners securing this room. Her breath trembled in her throat. “Gods, Sabine.”
“My scion,” was Sabine’s only reply.
Her mouth took its time, drawing lazy routes with her tongue, and Lyre’s nipples were taut and her nerves searing. Just when it might have been enough, Sabine dropped her lips south, nipping slow across Lyre’s soft belly. Her hands worked warm soothing motions into her thighs.
“My consort,” Sabine breathed fondly into the dip of Lyre’s hip, and Lyre shivered.
Sabine’s lips hesitated, hot breath tracing over the folds at the join of Lyre’s thighs, sending shivers that ricocheted to her core. Sabine pressed lazy kisses, faint and searing, across Lyre’s thighs. Worshipping her. Her. Worshipped by an empress on her knees. It was so beyond correct, it would have been shameful if it hadn’t felt true. Every touch, every breath, everything Sabine whispered against her skin ached of trueness.
“My mate,” Sabine said, and slicked her tongue firmly across Lyre’s clit.
A cry twisted loose, and Lyre dropped her head back against the throne. Only Sabine’s hands on her thighs, unexpectedly firm and grounding, kept her upright. If she kept it up, Lyre would have come right then. But Sabine was never in a hurry. She acted as if she intended to pick Lyre apart, breath by breath. Her tongue flicked out, petal soft this time. The tongue that had toppled enemies, turned wars, ruled empires. Now it took its time finding a slow, torturous rhythm that spiraled Lyre out of her thoughts. She was cursing, she was begging, she was whispering threats and desires and state secrets, anything, anything for the feeling to crest and yet somehow go on forever.
Sabine sensed it, of course she did. She pressed her fingers into Lyre’s core as she drew her tongue, velvet soft and unrelenting, against her clit. Lyre came, hard and searing as stars.
Lyre reassembled herself shivering from the after-quakes of pleasure. Sabine had already pulled off the blindfold and was pressed against her, wrapped up tight, warm and grounding as she watched Lyre’s eyes refocus. She kissed her cheek, soft and reassuring.
“Who are you?” Sabine asked again.
Lyre took a breath and tilted her head until her forehead knocked against Sabine’s shoulder. The throne was skin-warm behind her now, and somehow it felt just perfectly made to hold two. “Yours.”
Sabine’s grip tightened and she smiled against her hair. “As much I’m yours.” She sighed and pressed another flurry of soft kisses against Lyre’s temple. “We’ll need a second throne.”
No. Lyre instantly knew she didn’t want that. Let Sabine sit on the throne, bright and glorious, Lyre liked moving in the shadows. That thought used to be tinged by insecurities, but now it was just a fact. She’d be the dark consort to Sabine’s bright queen. Moon and sun. Loyal and reflecting. Lyre wriggled in her seat. “I don’t know, this one is kind of growing on me.” She unwound herself and stretched lazily across the throne. Their throne. She tilted her thighs open slightly. “I’m willing to share, though.”
Like tinder, desire ignited into Sabine’s eyes. Oh yes, Lyre would live a thousand years and never get tired of this. She patted her lap and Sabine drifted forward until she’d placed a knee to either side.
She was so warm. So near, so hers. Lyre felt giddy. She pressed in for another kiss, clasping her hands to Sabine’s sides. Sabine’s skin was so soft, its own kind of silk. The gentle curve of her belly made for excellent handles, and Lyre guided her hips into a slow grind as they kissed. She kept going until she could feel Sabine’s breath stutter against her lips.
“Now, Sabs. My Sabine.” Lyre whispered a kiss against her lips and ran her fingers down, over breasts to the soft flesh between Sabine’s thighs. Lyre could almost taste the cinnamon and green of ivy as Sabine arched against her with a soft, melting sound. Yes, here. Why not. On the throne. On their throne. Everything felt right with Sabine. “I think you still owe me a tribute, yes?”
* * *
Lyre didn’t believe in nerves. Nerves were silly. Nerves were for people who didn’t plan or got off on the thrill. But she watched the council chamber fill in—full attendance, of course, every high noble House wanted to see the new consort fail—and felt a momentary flare of...caution. Yes, she decided she’d call it caution.
The steady, calm thrum in her chest said Sabine was feeling none of it. They were waiting in the shadows of the sitting room for the meeting to start. Empress and Consort always had to make an entrance, after all. Sabine was flipping through agendas on her personal slate, one hand idly toying with Goji’s violet petals while the beast gnawed on her own foot.
They’d groomed Goji—no, pruned her. Pruned would be the better word. And as much as Lyre hated to admit it, the beast did clean up well. She’d filled out under Sabine’s attentions, and now looked like a sleek, muscular specimen of she-wolf. If you ignored the tiny deadly-looking nightshade sprouting behind each ear and the wicked thorns augmenting her flanks. Sabine insisted that they remain. Perfectly normal, respectable, wolf companion for an Empress.
At least, that was what all the senate had decided to say. No one dared bring Sabine fluffy wolf pups now for fear Goji would eat it. Or eat the gifter. If Sabine’s wolflessness had been a sign of her vulnerability before, Goji was a sign of her terrifying allies now. No regular wolf companion for the Spider Empress—she tamed monsters across the world.
Lyre tugged idly at her suit lapel. She wasn’t one of Sabine’s tamed monsters, Sabine had never treated her as such, no matter how the senate acted.
“Lyre.” Sabine’s voice was gentle. “You’re standing behind me again.”
The shadow. Of course, Lyre had naturally found the shadow. The shadow behind Sabine was the place Lyre knew best. “Didn’t want to steal the show.”
As if anyone could do that standing next to Sabine. She was luminescent. Since the Naming night, she’d put off dresses and taken to wearing the most devastating suits. This one was no exception, a column of buttery gray, with metallic emerald shot through. The real emeralds that hung in her low-cut décolletage brought out the warm amber and teak of her skin. She glowed.
She also felt different. Serenely comfortable. Sabine had always dressed impeccably, as long as Lyre had known her, but this...this was new. The confident cant of her hips wasn’t posed or practiced. The soft skin at the turn of her cheek was relaxed and not tense from trying to focus with a prosthesis. To pretend she was anything at all but herself.
Sabine was Sabine, and she wore it marvelously. A warm bloom filled Lyre’s chest, drowning out the caution. She’d done that. In some small way, at least. She could claim that much. And if she could do that...
Sabine had her hand out. Lyre took one breath, and then two, slow and preparing. Nerves were for people who did not have a plan. Lyre had a plan, and every plan from here on out led her back to Sabine.
Sabine’s palm was warm against hers. She squeezed it once for luck, and then Lyre stepped with her into the light.
* * *
To read more by Ada Harper, visit her website at www.adaharper.com or follow @adahwrites on Twitter.
Acknowledgements
This was, to put it mildly, a hard one. There were multiple times in this process that A Treason of Truths almost didn’t happen, and it’s thanks to some very awesome people that this book is in your hands at all.
Deep thanks to my agent, Caitlin McDonald, for fighting for what I wanted this book to be and advocating for it every step of the way. Also for dealing with my mid-draft flails with the wisdom and kindness I couldn’t dig up for myself.
I owe a world of love and whiskey to my husband, Levi, who pushed me through every word and was a gamely, supportive bartender when he had a bunch of loud, queer writers in his living room, tr
ying to help me fix a plot point with liquid inspiration. (We fixed it.)
Speaking of which, this book owes a lot of its existence to the support and friendship of my queer writer tribe. As a queer woman, I grew up seeing so little personal representation in the stories I read. And when it existed, it was often played as a bit joke or stereotype.
As a woman, I was told repeatedly that I couldn’t be bi because of who I married. As a writer I was told repeatedly how queer women romances don’t sell. How no one wanted that story. I wanted that story. My friends wanted that story. There were pivotal times in my life when I needed stories like these and they just weren’t available. So, I can’t control the rest of this crazy business, but I can control the story I tell. I hope I managed to make it a good one.
If I succeeded, it’s due to Chris Wolfgang, Jo Miles, Clarissa Ryan, Jennifer Mace, Gayathri Kamath, and Elsa Sjunneson-Henry for reading early drafts, spitballing problems, and helping me make the story I wanted it to be. Thank you, in particular, to Elsa for providing professional sensitivity read services for Sabine’s character. Elsa’s input was pivotal to the book. Any flaws or errors in the execution are my own.
Thank you to so many writing friends I have the honor of knowing: thank you to the Isle, and the pub, and Viable Paradise. Thank you also to Deborah Nemeth, Angela James, and the members of the Carina Press team who made this story possible.
And thanks to Kate, my sister, who continues to be my oldest ally and probably the only one in the family to whom me, writing a queer romance, was not a surprise. Thanks, sis.
Available now from Carina Press and Ada Harper
Desires and loyalties clash when an assassin with a secret and an intriguing enemy agent must fight together to avert a war.
Keep reading for an excerpt of A Conspiracy of Whispers, the first book in the Whispers universe.