by K. A. Linde
Fordham rose beside her, and she stomped into the greenhouse. She walked until they were far enough away from their friends before she spoke, “I know that you don’t want to do this. So, we can just wait…”
But she never finished her statement because there was Fordham. His fingers pushed up into her unruly red hair, and his lips descended on her own until there was nothing else in the entire world except the feel of him. Those perfect lips against hers and the taste of faerie punch potent between them.
She tripped, the alcohol making her legs wobble. He caught her easily with a breath of laughter on his lips. Her head was fuzzy, but she still couldn’t believe he was kissing her. After all the effort not to show how much she wanted to kiss him, here he was, with his mouth sealed against hers.
Fordham laid her down amid the out-of-season flowers and cradled her body against his. His hands moving from her back, across her stomach, and up her sides. She arched into him, wanting so much more. Her hands ripped his shirt out from his pants and ran over the hard contours of his abdomen. She dragged her nails over the pale skin, wanting nothing more than to let the faerie punch take over. To forget the three-minute rule from Audria and pull him to her. She could take what she wanted right here in the greenhouse.
“Fordham,” she murmured as he broke away to look at her.
But whatever he saw in her glazed gaze made him dive back down and claim her mouth once again. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroking against her own until there was nothing but heat and need. Gods, she wanted him. She tried to remind herself that this was just part of the game. But the way he moved against hers and the heat from his body made her forget everything entirely.
“Ford,” she groaned as he moved from her mouth to her ear and neck and down to her collarbone. She dropped her head backward, arching into his touch. “Oh Gods.”
He stopped before diving lower. His chest rising and falling like they’d just run a marathon. His pelvis was pressed firmly against her hip, and she could feel precisely what their kissing was doing to him. No matter that they were drunk on punch and under the spell of a game, they both wanted this.
Then, his hands trailed lower and lower and lower. They slid under the waistband of her pants, and everything stilled for a brief moment. His swirling gray irises met hers, a question, a comma, a pause. She nodded once. Yes. Yes, she wanted this. All of him.
He moved down deeper until his finger pressed against her most sensitive area. Her back arched against him. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he drowned it out with a swift kiss. Then, he was at her opening. He pressed one finger experimentally into her, a slow upward thrust that made her shiver from head to toe. He added a second finger as his lips became more insistent against hers.
She was consumed by him. There was nothing else in the entire world except his body flush against hers. The length of him hard against her hip. And those fingers… oh Gods, those fingers. He brushed this thumb against the small bead at the apex of her core and everything collapsed inward all at once.
He muffled her small whimpering cries with his mouth as she contracted around him. Her vision went in and out. Then, she slowly returned to earth and stared up at the incredible male before her.
A lazy self-satisfied smirk played on his too pretty lips, and the effects of the alcohol swirled through those big gray eyes. She reached up and ran a hand down the stubble of jawline. “What are you thinking?”
“I could devour you,” he said immediately, nipping at her bottom lip.
“Devour me,” she urged.
For a second, his grip tightened on her waist. She could feel the more insistent press of him as he shifted to try to release the tension. Yes, it had been a game, but it was a game no longer.
“Please,” she murmured against his lips.
His head fell to her shoulder, and he pressed a kiss there. “What is in this punch? It makes me want to throw caution to the wind.”
She laughed hoarsely, the spell broken. “Magic.” She already felt him withdrawing. “Is this all we’ll ever have?”
He didn’t answer. She saw the sorrow cross his face. They could have this. They could have the world. If only he’d let them. But he wouldn’t.
She pressed one more kiss to his swollen lips, adjusted the laces of her pants, and stood up out of the flowers. She returned to their friends, and he returned a few minutes later, after he was fully in control of himself once more. The game was forgotten as the others had discovered more recreational herbs.
It was for the better. She’d gotten the hardest consequence already.
37
The Holiday
“You are all excused from the remainder of lessons this week,” Alura announced. “You have been personally invited by the king and queen of Bryonica to come to Rosemont and partake in the winter holiday Season events for Geivhrea.”
Geivhrea was the ancient Fae winter holiday, celebrating the end of the night and the coming of spring. It was the biggest event of the year.
“You’ve been given accommodations within Belcourt Palace. It is a great honor, and I expect all of you to treat it as such. As always, you represent the Society while you are there. Anything that would look bad for us there will directly affect you here. Any questions?”
No one raised their hand. And then at the last second, Kerrigan put hers up.
Alura glared at her, but Kerrigan didn’t put it down. She might be a good little soldier, but there was one important question.
Alura blew out an exasperated huff. “What is it, Argon?”
Kerrigan sighed in relief. “How exactly will I be getting there?”
“Since classes are canceled, today is your final day of being grounded. You’ll leave tomorrow, and you are free to fly Tieran there.”
Kerrigan breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t have been happier. No more grounding. It had been a grueling month without him in the skies. They didn’t get along, but a part of her missed him like a giant ache in her chest. Maybe she was actually coming to like this sardonic dragon.
“You’ll resume training after the first of the year,” Alura continued, her gaze never leaving Kerrigan. “I expect you all to look exactly the same. No matter if you’ve had a break from training or not.”
Kerrigan gulped. Well, great. That was ten days. Ten days to make up for a month of training that the others had been given. And she had to attend Season events. How was she supposed to accomplish that?
But Alura just asked, “Any other questions?”
She kept her hand down. That wasn’t an invitation.
“Go pack and be ready to be in the skies by high noon,” Alura said. “Dismissed!”
Kerrigan jumped at her shout and hastened behind the others. They had a matter of hours to get ready. Audria gossiped the entire way about who was going to be there and what the Belcourt Palace would look like this year for Geivhrea. She forced herself not to think about it.
Kerrigan hadn’t been to Bryonica in twelve years, but she remembered her last night as if it were yesterday.
She’d gone out riding with her father, cutting through Corsica Forest, which made up the bulk of their lands. Kivrin was unusually quiet. He’d never been a taciturn kind of father like everyone else. He was fair, kind, buoyant. He was as interested in teaching her the intricacies of court to have her grow into a fair lady as he was to teach her the art of deception and warfare. The son he’d never had.
They stopped at the stream on the far side of their family estate, Waisley. Her horse should have been a meager pony, but her father never would have allowed her such a small beast. He’d wanted her on stallions by the time she could toddle around.
He’d looked far away and said the words that never left her all these years, “You will survive this, Felicity.”
He’d known even then what he was going to do. She’d thought he meant that she’d survive the beast and March coming to the estate and all the many petty problems a young girl could have. But when she woke
the next day, she was not in her bed with the white drapes cresting the posts, the cushions so soft that she always felt like it must be the same as sleeping on a cloud. She was in the mountain. And everything had changed.
Now, she was to return.
It took a matter of minutes to pack her bag but an hour to traipse through the Artisan Village and find Parris’ dress shop.
“I can’t help you,” he said, crossing his arms. He was a slight thing, not more than a spattering of inches taller than Kerrigan and all skin and bones. Not even getting out of the House of Dragons had changed that. His Fae ears were delicate and on display. His long blond hair tucked behind them in a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“Parris, come on,” she said. “Imagine me at the Geivhrea party in your gown. I’ll be before the king and queen.”
“I have a dozen other gowns to finish before then,” he grumbled.
“Will all of those people need to make an impression on the king?”
He tried to shoo her out of the place, but she’d spent months training and always been stronger than him anyway.
“You’ve ruined too many of my gowns,” he complained.
“It’s not my fault.”
“You don’t even pay me!”
She laughed. “I’m free advertisement.”
“That doesn’t pay the bills, Society mistress,” he joked, poking her in the ribs.
“Parris…”
He huffed. “I’ll need all new measurements.” He gestured to her arms, chest, and back. “Everything has gotten bigger. Must you keep training with that useless sword?”
“Afraid so.”
He tweaked a dress to her measurements on the spot. He’d already been working on a new design for the Season with her in mind. And he’d been right; it would do the trick.
With the dress safely tucked into her traveling bag, she went to the aerie at high noon to find Tieran waiting for her. He hadn’t been talking to her this last month. It had been agonizing.
Now, he turned his head to glare at her. Are you through trying to ruin all of our plans?
“Completely.”
I don’t believe you.
“Don’t blame you,” she said with a laugh as she attached the bag to his saddle. “But the king and queen called us to court. So, to court we go. Plus, we’re going to need to train the entire time we’re there if we’re to catch up to the others.”
“I’ll teach you,” Fordham said, striding away from Netta.
She flushed. Her mind returning to that greenhouse. They hadn’t discussed it. What was there to discuss really? They couldn’t deny their attraction to one another. They kept ending up tangled in each other’s arms, like idiots. And if she wasn’t comfortable with that being all it was, then she was going to have to cut him off entirely. Because she couldn’t keep doing this if her heart wouldn’t shut up.
“I appreciate it, but … I’m going to see if Audria will work with me,” she said carefully.
Fordham is better, Tieran grumbled in her head.
She glared at the traitorous dragon.
“Audria is going to be knee deep in Bryonican gentlemen,” Fordham said.
“Maybe I will as well,” she challenged.
He frowned. “Just one, I’d wager.”
Kerrigan winced. She’d walked right into that one. March was another issue entirely.
“Just let me help,” he commanded in that general’s voice she hadn’t heard in so long.
Her spine straightened at the words. “I don’t think we should be spending time together. And even if we should, don’t use that voice with me.”
“Rightfully, I am your crowned prince,” he said, pulling a trump card.
She stepped up to him, meeting his challenge. “Respectfully, I’m not a member of your court. Your father made damn sure of that.”
His eyes darted around the room. “Don’t let anyone hear you saying that. Lorian just needs an excuse.”
She deflated. “I know.”
“Just let me help, gods. Why is it always an argument?”
Yeah, Kerrigan, why is it always an argument? Tieran asked.
“Enough out of both of you,” she muttered and then climbed onto Tieran’s back. Fordham arched an eyebrow, and she reluctantly nodded. “Fine. You can train me.”
He smiled, slow and dangerous. Gods, help me. She remembered exactly what his military training had been like. She was up for some sleepless nights and exhaustion. But what was the difference at this point?
Late in the afternoon, they landed in the Bryonican capital city, Rosemont, wind-whipped and half-freezing. The sea came into view long before they reached the sprawling city and the gray stone of Belcourt Palace. With no mountains in sight, the dragons had been given accommodations in Society housing with plenty of fresh meat while the trainees were escorted across the palace grounds.
Kerrigan kept her eyes straight forward as they crossed the frost-covered yard from the stables. Belcourt Palace was a jewel at the mouth of the Seven-Finger Bay leading out to the Gardic Sea. It was well guarded and damn near unbreakable. One of the first cities to ever be built by the Fae in Alandria. They’d settled in this natural defensive position and dedicated the space to the gods, which was why everything was gilded and bejeweled. Or so they said.
Their bags were carried to their rooms ahead of them while attendants directed them to bathing quarters and brought out fresh clothes in their tribe colors.
Kerrigan stepped out of the bath and was toweled off before a navy dress with embroidered silver roses was put before her. She blinked at it. “This is Bryonican colors.”
“Yes, my lady,” the attendant said, curtsying deeply.
“I’m of the House of Shadows.”
They frowned and glanced at each other. “Many here still see you as Bryonican, my lady.”
She wanted to argue. Wearing this color would give them the wrong impression. She wasn’t returning to Bryonica. No matter what anyone thought. But causing a fuss would surely be noted as well.
She frowned and let them drape her in the colors she’d long ago given up. When she stepped out of the chamber, she saw Audria in a similar attire with the House of Drame insignia emblazed on her chest. Kerrigan was glad that at least her father’s House of Cruse wasn’t on her own dress.
“You look wonderful!” Audria gushed. “Oh, I love seeing you back in our colors.”
That made one of them. Though she didn’t say it.
Fordham however frowned when he saw her. “Blue?”
She sighed. Of course, he was dressed in all black for the House of Shadows.
“I tried to tell them this wasn’t my color.”
He touched the fringe of lace at her collar. It was definitely more ornamental than what she normally wore. “This doesn’t suit you.”
“Really, Fordham?” Audria gasped. “You’re such an ass!”
He stepped forward, ignoring Audria, until he was in Kerrigan’s space. She took a deep breath and met his gaze. He bowed slightly, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to it. “Charbonnet black is better,” he said low.
She startled at the tribe name for the House of Shadows. She’d never heard him use it before. But before she could ask about it, Roake and Noda returned from their baths. Noda in Concha teal blue and Roake in all black with an Elsiande pink cravat at his throat. Then, the attendants were ushering them through the palace and straight to the throne room.
Audria squeezed Kerrigan’s hand. “Here we go.”
Roake shook slightly. “I’m going to be sick.”
“They’re not your king and queen,” Noda said with a laugh.
“They’re still royalty.”
Fordham sniffed. As if he wasn’t royalty in their very midst. As if she and Audria weren’t from a royal line as well. Not that Kerrigan wanted anyone to think of her like that.
The doors to the throne room creaked open.
“His Royal Highness, Crowned Prince Fordham Ollivie
r of the House of Shadows,” the attendant called. “Lady Kerrigan Felicity Argon, First of the House of Cruse of Bryonica, now of the House of Shadows.”
Kerrigan winced at her title. The use of her given name. Then, she took a breath and stepped up next to Fordham.
“Lady Audria Ather, Third of the House of Drame of Bryonica.”
Audria joined her with her head high.
“Master Roake Brevard of Elsiande and Mistress Noda Hoake of Concha. The latest representatives of the Society.”
As a unit, they strode forward down the aisle that led to King Mydran, First of the House of Stoirm of Bryonica, and Queen Littany, First of the House of Stoirm, formerly First of the House of Medallion. Courtiers milled about the room, assessing their entrance. And to Kerrigan’s dismay, Ashby March stood at the front of the room. She nearly froze at the sight of him beside the queen until she remembered that the queen was his great-aunt.
Was this why they had been called to court so abruptly? Scales.
“Welcome, representatives from the Society,” King Mydran said grandly. He wore Bryonican navy in a series of sweeping robes with gold glittering about his person. His hair was graying at the temples. He’d fought in the Great War, and he was much beloved by his people. “We hope that your accommodations are to your liking and that your days within Rosemont bring much joy. It is always a pleasure to have members of my court back within the halls.” He paused as his eyes dropped to Kerrigan. “Some whose return was a long time coming.”
She curtsied lower at the acknowledgment.
He issued more pleasantries before releasing them to the court. All Kerrigan wanted to do was turn and run the other direction. She’d had a long day. It was the first she’d flown in a month, and she was exhausted. But one look at March, and she knew that she would have to speak to him before fleeing.
“Lady Argon,” March said formally as he approached her. He took her hand and bowed deeply.
Kerrigan could feel Fordham stiffen next to her. “March,” she said with a curtsy. “Do I have you to thank for this trip?”