I cock my head at him. “Is that an apology here in the Daylands? Because it’s a load of unicorn shit in the Nightlands.”
His laughter bursts free, and he pulls me close, his heat drawing me in and caressing me like strokes from his fingers. “My apologies, treasured consort. I meant no offense to you or your talents. I wasn’t being the least bit ironic. Though, I admit, I don’t have any sense of what makes great art.”
“I noticed,” I snip.
“Oh?” He pulls back and looks at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”
“Your chambers has great pieces mixed with some that look as if a child did them with finger paints while sneezing profusely.”
Another laugh, this one rich and bold, a sound that I want to pull around me like a cloak. “Now who’s insulting whom?” His laughter rumbles into a wry stare.
Wait…” My stomach flips. “Youdid the finger paintings?”
“The great Master Finolius tried for centuries to teach me, but he went to the Glowing Lands with the same disappointed look on his face that he wore in each of our lessons.” He grins, not the least bit daunted. “As I said, art isn’t my specialty.”
I look up at him. “Then whatisyour specialty?”
“My tongue.”
I bite my lip.
“For politics, of course,” he adds. “I need to be able to speak and persuade.”
“Oh, of course.” I nod with flippant exaggeration. “I’m well aware of the finer points your tongue is able to make.”
Thatsmile. He’s already handsome, truly the most gorgeous high fae I’ve ever beheld, but when he smiles, it’s as if my entire heart goes up in his sunny fire, and I’m not even mad about it. In fact, I want more.
A purr rumbles through his chest and into mine as he draws me up his body. “You may paint as much as you want, whenever you like. All right?”
I nod. “Okay.” Whose breathy-sex-voice is that? Mine?
“You are a changeling, but that doesn’t mean I don’t value you.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.” I rest my hands on his shoulders.
“Compliment.” He moves closer, his lips so close to mine. “For you, always compliments.”
My breath hitches as he slides one hand down to cup my ass.
His lips meet mine, and I clutch him closer, the fine fabric of his white tunic soft under my fingers as he delves his tongue into my mouth. Angling my head, he tastes me deeply, and I press myself against him, my hard nipples tingling as they rub against the smooth robe. He kneads my ass and runs his other hand through my hair, sifting the curly strands between his fingers before pulling lightly to angle my head. I take everything he gives, my body demanding more, my heart pounding.
He pulls away, his fangs long and white. “Get dressed before I break my vow.”
I lean forward and nip at his bottom lip.
He growls and eases his hand beneath my robe and cups my breast. “You tease me, changeling.”
I moan as he pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. This is all too familiar, too fast, too much, but I can’t deny my attraction, especially not after he tasted me. Just the memory of it sends a pleasant tingle down my spine.
With a groan, he sets me on my feet and backs away. His erection presses against his pants, and I can’t seem to look anywhere else. “Enjoying what you’ve done to your king?”
His gaze drops to my chest, and I realize my robe is hanging open. I pull it together, and he turns around and runs a hand through his hair, the blazing crown appearing but leaving him unburnt. “Get dressed. You’re late for lunch.”
“I am?”
“You have other plans?” he asks.
“No.” I shoot a glance to my art supplies.
