She tenses, but not with fear. Her arousal scent grows stronger, the paradise between her thighs beckoning me.
“Get some rest.” I press my nose into my pillow and pray to the Ancestors I make it through the resting hours without mounting her in my sleep.
17
Emma
When I wake in the morning, my first thought is “why has the carriage stopped?” When I roll over to find out, I hit the floor with a hard thwap. “Not in the carriage,” I groan and turn to my back to stare up at the sun trying to pry its way into the room. How did I manage to sleep with all the brightness?
Sitting up, I rub my aching hip. Solano is gone.
Maybe that’s a good thing, since he didn’t have to witness my clumsiness that’s sure to leave a bruise. The stone floor is not my friend. I rise and stretch, not sure what time it is. The sun is constant, so it’s anyone’s guess.
Solano’s room isn’t the fancy, overdone bed chambers that I expected. Its walls are covered in tapestries and paintings, some of them frightfully amateur—much like mine—and some works of pure art that I could stare at for weeks and still not manage to understand the genius behind the brushstrokes. I wander around the large room, inspecting his furniture and clothes.
He has a closet bigger than the meeting hall back in Moonhollow. The left wall is full of clothes that draw a laugh from me. Some of the outfits have big, puffy arms. I squeeze them to find they’re stuffed with tulle. Others are bedecked with jewels. Cloaks of many colors—all with golden thread. And the shoes verge on ridiculous—they all have golden accents with overdone embroidery. Does he wear these? I think back. No. He always has boots on when I see him. I can’t reach the hats that are stacked above the clothes, but I do stop and wonder what sort of birds gave such vibrant feathers to the overdone headpieces.
From there, I wander to his bathing room. Everything is neat and organized, and I pick up a bar of soap that smells like him. I can’t describe his scent. Is it sun? Sun and soap and masculine something-or-other. I just know I like it. A thrill runs through me when I think back to what he’d done to me after dinner. Pressing my thighs together, I force myself to calm down. After all, I’m just shiny and new to him. That was why he’d given me that mind-blowing pleasure. I’m like a new changeling, and Ancestors know if I were in my village, you can bet I’d be crowing to all the females about how well I was tended to by the king’s golden tongue. I lean against the white marble sink as I let the memory play in my mind.
“My lady.”
I jump and yell at the voice behind me.
“Apologies, my lady.” A wizened lesser fae walks in with towels piled high in his arms.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. Let me help you.”
“Oh, no, my lady. I can—”
I lift the top set of towels off and hurry to the linen closet beside the bathtub. “Here.” I stack them, then he puts the rest away.
Straightening, he looks me in the eye. “You’re the new consort, I take it?”
“That’s me.” I nod. Then I remember I’m wearing just a slip, so I casually cross my arms over my chest.
“A nightling?” A hint of worry colors his voice.
“Yes. Don’t be scared. I’m just a changeling.”
His face brightens a bit, the upward pointing tusks on his lower jaw rising. “Not scared, my lady. Just not used to you is all. I’m Dilrubin.” He holds out a gnarled, but clean, hand. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”
I shake. “I’m Emma. Are you the king’s …” What’s the word? Servant? Valet? Butler? Maybe some other fancy way to say almost-slave-but-not-quite?
“I’m his steward, yes.” He nods, his white uniform crisp and his thin hair gray but neat. “I keep his rooms.”
“I’ll get out of your way then. Nice to meet you.” I walk past and finally drop my arms.
“Very nice, my lady.” He turns. “Apologies, nightling. Some are superstitious about those from the Nightlands, but I’m not one of them. Or at least I thought I wasn’t.” He frowns again. “It’s been a while since we had a nightling here. Been a long, long time, but you are welcome, and thank you for your help.” He bustles further into the bathing room.
“You’re welcome.” I can already tell Dilrubin and I are going to get along fine. “I’ll see you later, I guess.” I try to find the secret door to the consort’s quarters, but I pat the wall for a while and nothing opens up. “Where is it?” I move sideways, yanking on tapestries and stomping the stones along the floor. When Dilrubin hasn’t reappeared from the bathroom, and I see there’s no way for me to open the secret door, I creep into the long hallway.
The guards don’t look at me as I pass, but then I turn as fast as I can and catch one looking at my ass before he faces forward again. “Gotcha!” I call and dart into the consorts’ chambers and close the door.
I smile. I shouldn’t be smiling. I should be crying over missing my mother or plotting ways to get home. Instead, I laugh at the guard and can’t stop thinking about Solano. I should hate him. I don’t. I slept soundly last night despite the relentless sun, and I only woke once to peer at his naked chest and peek beneath the blanket at his massive—
“There you are!”
I jump as Matron Lucidia appears from my bedroom. “Why is everyone doing that to me today?” I peel myself off the door and walk to my room. She follows at my heels like a yippy gremel.
