Fitting his hands to her hips, he spun her, pinned her against the edge of the table, and cupped her cheek before kissing her.
She tasted of tea and something sweeter.Her taste was growing familiar, as was everything about her.He had not expected to feel as he did about all those now familiar things.He’d not thought about them at all.He’d married a sensible, pretty woman he didn’t hate.She’d needed a safe nest to hide in, and since he’d planned to get something out of her, it seemed only fair she get something in return.A mutually beneficial arrangement.
But by all the molten metals deep in the dark earth, he felt sometimes—all the fucking time—like he was in a dream that started with a single drop of love potion.
He wanted to kiss her fast and slow at the same time, to consume her and savor her, to hide her away to keep her safe, no matter what his family needed him to do, no matter his king’s commands.
He pulled away from the kiss but not from her.Couldn’t make himself give up a delectable inch.He nudged her nose with his own, hand curled tight at her nape, tangled in the thick silky hair there.
“What have you been studying today?”he asked.
“Oh,everything.”
“That narrows it down.”
She chuckled.Then her head drooped, and she picked at her gown.“I am torn, Temple.I do not wish to stay hidden forever, but I’ve been unable to find any answers in the books you’ve brought me.They are filled with fascinating insights.An entire world I never knew.And some of what I’m learning is helping me with my talent, but nothing about how to get rid of it.”
That’s what she was looking for.He scratched his jaw.She’d be safer without the talent, but the idea of excising a part of her made him uneasy.“A talent is a skill like any other.Once you learn, you are never rid of the knowledge.”
She shook her head and bit her thumbnail.“No.I did not cultivate this.It was forced on me.If I can be rid of it, I must be.Or it will always be a shadow hanging over me.And you.Over your family.I will never know a moment of true peace.Neither will you.”
“Everyone has secrets, little queen.Silence and peace are possible at the same time.”
“What if…” She laid her hands over her belly.“I am with child?What then?Will this magic inside me hurt it?Will the child carry it?”
He grinned.Couldn’t help.The idea of Diana growing their babe—it seemed a dream he’d never known he’d had.He couldn’t seem to share her worry.“Our child will be fine.”
Her gaze grew distant, and she shook her head.“No.It can only be passed on through death.At least I thought, but…” She gave a tiny, adorable growl, like an upset kitten.
He kissed the back of her hand.She was getting that thoughtful look in her eye, and it made him want to strip her to her very skin.
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.That the only sign she’d registered his attentions.“There’s a book by a fellow named Reginald Baxter.”
“Mm?”He rotated her hand, kissed her palm.“Tell me exactly what you think of old Reginald.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not at all, but I will know what I need to after you speak.”
“He claims that transcendents inherited their abilities through birth, but that’s not possible.And not what I learned.”
“Reginald raised your ire.I can see it.”
She shook her head, cheeks draining of color.“I apologize.I should not show my disapproval of a learned man.”
“Yes, you should.I like you when you’re angry.”
“Liar.”But she smiled.
“Tell me what you learned,” he murmured against the fragile skin of her wrist where he placed a kiss upon her pulse.
“That a divine spark was placed into the bodies of a handful of great men long ago, and those original sparks have been passed down from eldest son to eldest son since that time.”
He laughed, the huff of it warming the skin that swept into the bend of her elbow.Where he placed a kiss.“Is that a literal spark or a metaphorical spark?”
She skipped a breath, several, her chest pausing at the top of an inhalation.Because he’d skimmed his lips up her neck, kissed the edge of her jaw?Hopefully.“I-I had always thought literal, but your implication is”—she stuttered a breath as he tugged her earlobe between his teeth—“noteworthy.Of course the spark could be a metaphor for birth, but… Oh, Temple, I can barely think when you do that.”
“A shame.I like it when you think.But also… I might be prouder of clouding that superb mind of yours than anything else.Diana, if you cannot think at the moment… then do not.”
