“Basten,” she breathes, as she runs her hands over her arms, throwing back up her human glamour. “Matron White…what was that?”
I sink next to her, immediately protective, and scrub my hands over my face. “I didn’t know she’d be there—I swear it. The day we arrived, Kendan revealed to me that the Matron had survived the fire, and she convinced me that we need her to get the Red Church on our side. But I swear to you, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
Sabine looks down at her hands, at the fey that is only now starting to steady. I’m afraid she’ll claw me with harsh words for the lie—but then she seems to soften.
“You should have told me,” she says, still looking down. “But I understand as well as anyone that there are…” she hesitates, “…reasons to keep secrets.”
Secrets? Is she keeping some of her own?
But her look grows more contemplative as she runs her fingers over the silk sheets, and the moment shifts. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Being in Rian’s bed?”
I groan, at least relieved to move on from the topic of Matron White. “That’s the last thing I want to think about.”
She frowns at how I’m plucking at my clothes, then pushes up to her knees on the bed. “Stop that, you’re only going to rip out the buttons, and Ferra will scold you ceaselessly for it. Let me undo them for you.”
I surrender to her small fingers, which deftly free me from the restrictive clothing. As soon as I can, I shrug out of the shirt and scratch all the places on my chest where it itched me nearly to death.
She smiles in amusement, unable to stop herself, which breaks the heaviness between us. “You’re like an itchy old dog.”
“Guilty,” I bark.
She winces as she pulls a pin from her hair. “Men have no room to complain. You have no idea how uncomfortable women’s clothing is. And this antique gown? It might as well have been cobbled together from granite and wood.”
My voice drops. “Then, I guess we’d better strip you, too.”
I reach for her sleeve, pushing my luck.
She sees the glint in my eye and shimmies away, slapping at my hand. “This gown is a thousand years old. Ferra will want to spend an hour carefully getting me out of it.”
I rub my chin, not liking the sound of that. The day has been torture. Waiting, waiting, smiling, waiting.
“We have a fleet of seamstresses. They can mend it.”
I grab the heavy brocade skirt and drag her to the foot of the bed. She feigns affront but can’t hide her laughter. I spin her around, pressing her belly down into the mattress, as I tear at the buttons down the dress’s back.
With every peek of creamy skin underneath, my blood runs hotter.
Gods, I need this.
So does she.
Once I shuck the gown off her, she’s left in a thin slip that leaves little to the imagination. “Stay there,” I order. “Don’t move an inch. I want to fuck you in this crown.”
I scoop up her circlet, climb onto the bed, and rest it back on her messy braid.
She looks back at me, over her shoulder, with sly eyes that do all kinds of wicked things to me. “I didn’t think you cared about crowns.”
“Riches are riches, little violet. And they look damn good on you.”
She twists to be on her back, and I lean in to capture her lips with my own. She opens her mouth for me, soft lips teasing my own until I can feel my muscles stiffen with growing need. I fumble to get my belt off, shucking off my pants, and then crawl over to her. I bury my face in the crook of her neck.
“Damn,” I growl. “Fucking incense is so thick I can’t smell you.”
I nuzzle against her shoulder, biting her skin lightly. I’m so used to perceiving her in every possible way. Sight, taste, touch. It kills me not to smell her scent beneath the sandalwood oil drenching every inch of furniture.
Something creaks in the big oak wardrobe, and I whip my head around, frowning—but Sabine pushes up to nibble on my jaw, and I forget day from night.
A moan rolls up my throat as I push her back down to the sheets. The crown slides off her head to clatter to the floor. She twists to pick it up, but I trap her wrist, guiding her back to the bed.
