I can’t focus on anything except that touch.
“Your name’s Emma?” The one called Tristano asks.
“Yes.” My breath hitches as Solano’s fingers creep higher.
“Are you ready to do your consort duties?” he asks, but there’s no bite in it, no derision.
“Forgive Tristano,” Solano whispers in my ear. “His mother was the greatest madame the day realm has ever known.”
“Madame?”
“She ran all the prostitutes.” Tristano nods and raises his glass. “To Mum.”
The other, quiet male raises his glass as do Solano and Brock. “To Madame Ivalden.” They all drink, then Solano tilts the cup to my lips.
I swallow the tart wine and lean against him, his powerful body taut beneath me.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a consort,” Tristano continues. “If anyone gives you grief about it, you come to me.”
Solano’s fingers curl into my flesh. “She can come tome, Tristano.”
“Of course.” He drains his wine glass, then has a servant pour him another.
“I’m not a tattler.” I squirm a little more, then get a feel for how much Solano is enjoying his teasing game. My panties grow damp as his hard length presses against my ass. If his fingers seek any higher, he’ll feel how wet I am for him.
“I can already scent it, nightling,” he whispers in my ear. “Your desire.” A low growl rumbles through his chest. “The others can taste it on the air, and just the thought of them knowing your scent makes me want to end them.” His fingers skate perilously close to my panties. “Do you like knowing what you do to your king?”
“I, um …” I can’t find words. They’ve all been collected by his fingertips that graze the edge of my panties. “Solano,” I hiss.
“Yes, nightling?” His low growl sends another wave of heat to my core, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Tristano grins and looks away, Charen seems wrapped up in his own head, and I’m thankful I can’t see Brock’s expression from where I’m sitting.
When Solano’s finger grazes along my wet panties, I bite back a moan. And when he pulls his hand away and licks his fingertips, I think I might pass out for a second.
“Smooth,” Tristano says under his breath.
“Ugh. Varan’s coming. Fuck me to the Spires.” Charen doesn’t look up as a high fae strides into the dining room, something in his walk telling me he wants a fight.
Solano tenses but keeps me in his grasp.
“Here we go.” Tristano pulls a blade from his sleeve and tosses it into the air, the silver turning end over end until he catches it with ease and flips it up again.
“Easy.” Charen sits straighter.
“Brother.” The high fae looms over the table, his gaze sweeping over Solano and me.
“Is your Nightlands harlot to your liking?” He motions to a servant to pull a chair out for him.
“You haven’t been invited to dine, Varan.” Solano’s tone is edged with malice.
“You’d deny your only brother a place at your table?” His voice rises.
I know this high fae. Or, at least I know his type. He’s a Lysetta. She always wanted attention, always wanted to play victim, and always managed to get her way. Well, at least until the day king chose me over her. That gives me a streak of satisfaction before I refocus on the golden fae who should be handsome, but something in his eyes makes my skin crawl.
Solano rests his hand on my knee. “If you have something to say, get on with it. Otherwise, I was having a private conversation.”
“Privately discussing how you intend to defend our lands from the threat you’ve yet to uncover?” Varan turns to address the murmuring crowd of nobles. “There was another attack. This time on the farmlands. The areas that supply these tables.” He points at the crowd of haughty high fae. “In fact, I’ve been told that King Solano was there when it happened but failed to find the ones responsible.”
