A sad smile stretches my lips, and he responds with the same, both of us realizing the hopelessness of the situation we’re in. And I believe in him. I know deep in my guts that he will try to change things. Maybe even break the Hex. But his way to this goes over my dead body. And most likely, over Tayna’s, too.
But now there’s tea and warmth, and there is still some time to daylight, some hours before the beginning of the next trial.
“And how was growing up in a palace?” I ask, not pulling my hand away.
“Lonelier than you think. You have already met my closest friends—a gardener and a talking rat. I was bred and trained to be the right hand of the king, Commander of the Shadowblades—an elite squadron of warriors and spies. I had more freedom than him,” he adds, his gaze staring into the distance. No need to ask who he means by him. “And fell in love with the Wastelands, with plants and growth, all creations of Cymmetra. And no, I didn’t kill him,” he adds so softly that I am not sure if I heard him right. “You are the first person I confess this to. I haven’t killed my brother. I watched him gradually turn into a monster, a power-hungry maniac, and I knew the time would come when I’d challenge him for the crown, but not like this.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone that you haven’t killed him?” Elders, how could he keep this to himself when the whole world is calling him a murderer behind his back? His hand over mine is burning.
“Because murdering an opponent is the normal way of Unseelie succession. It makes me more respectable and feared, just like—”
“Winning the Nightfall Trials,” I end the sentence for him, and it all clicks into place. So that’s why he is in the Trials. Not out of bloodlust or desire to hunt and torment others.
“Hey, the conversation got quite gloomy, didn’t it?” He winks. Seuta guard my heart, but he winked at me! “How about you help me clean up?” He suggests and pushes to his feet, leaving my hand cold and missing his touch.
It is a good idea. Our shoulders brushing, soon we are laughing again, soap bubbles flying around, while scrubbing the steel pan together. He fits me with a foamy beard, and I create a tall, bubbly crown and solemnly place it over his silver tresses. Then we put the washed dishes away.
“Put the cups in the tall oak cupboard over there,” he orders while drying a plate with the towel. I pass in front of the fireplace and freeze, feeling his burning eyes on me. My blanket is draped over the chair’s backrest, and I’m in my translucent nightgown, the light of the fire making every detail of my body visible. He is at me in one leap, not touching me; his eyes are black under the heavy lids.
Elders help me; I am breathing heavily, enveloped in the warmth of his bare chest, the heat of the hearth behind me, and this otherworldly, intoxicating scent of his. His fingers, soft from the warm water and smelling of soap, graze my jawline and linger at my chin, tilting my face up so that our eyes meet. His gaze slowly takes in my features as if trying to memorize them, lingering on my mouth.
His lips part, flashing his fangs, but they are anything but threatening now in the warm glow of the hearth. I marvel how they would feel if used gently on my…heat pools from my core, reaching that place between my legs, that already aches with need. Slowly, very slowly, he leans in, and his lips brush against mine in an unspoken question. They are softer than I thought.
The kitchen around me disappears in a maelstrom of candlelight and soap bubbles, and I part my lips, granting him access. He slides his tongue in, crushing me against the hard plane of his body. His powerful arm snakes around my waist, pulling me in closer—if that is even possible—and his hand finds my nape. He deepens the kiss, his broad chest rising rapidly, and our tongues swirl together greedily, each one unable to get enough taste of the other. He tilts my head in a position, granting him maximum access, and deepens the kiss with the ferocity of a warlord, claiming his spoil of war.
This is all too much; my knees soften, and slickness spreads down the inner of my thighs. I bet he smells it, Fae senses and all. And I don’t care. I want him to know how much I want this. I respond with a moan to his row kiss, and this sets him off.
With a swift move, he wraps my legs around his waist and carries me to the massive table. He gently sits me there without interrupting the onslaught of his tongue, and I moan again, realizing that I am naked beneath the transparent gown and feeling his massive length pressed against my slit.
A deep, animalistic rumble reverberates from his chest when I grind against him, rubbing my soaked, swollen labia against his pants. The fabric is so thin that I can feel the veins along his massive cock, his wide crown, and the drops of his need staining the light cotton.
I moan again, louder, as his hand cups my breast, a calloused finger twirling around my nipple, and slowly and deliberately slide my clit along his hardness.
Foreplay and lovemaking are nothing new to me. I had a few tumbles in the straw with young men, driven by pure lust and curiosity. They had all left me wanting, needing, and missing something I could not put my finger on. But nothing, nothing could compare to this. My moans are genuine, not the sounds of pleasure Myrtle fakes for her customers, and my need is burning me on the inside.
Once again, I slowly glide my nub along his throbbing length, and he responds with a well-aimed thrust. His lips suddenly leave my mouth, and I open my eyes in protest. But then the straps of my nightgown slip down, and burning soft lips trail a path to my right breast. I grind against his cock like a woman possessed when his tongue explores my nipple, licking, gently suckling, and grazing the tender flesh while his hips work with mine in some savage harmony. All thoughts and alarm bells are muted in my head. All I want is this magnificent male inside me.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, and the sound of his voice is nearly enough to send me over the edge. “Let me see you, Talysse,” he whispers hoarsely, and before the meaning of his words reaches my mind, he is on his knees before me, his hot breath brushing my wet and painfully open folds. “So beautiful.” And then flicks his sinful tongue along my slit, pausing at my clit.
Leaning back on my elbows, I bite back a scream. He takes his time exploring me—licking every single rim before returning to my clit. There, he starts working with a maddening rhythm, circling it, teasing it, and gently sucking it in. It takes an embarrassingly short time for me to come undone and fall flat on my back, eyes rolled up, unable to say anything but his name.
“Aeidas,” I call, and it is a plea and a prayer at the same time.
When the world around me gains shape again, he rises to his feet, wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and looks down at me with a devilish smirk. Once again, he is the Crown Prince of the Unseelie, tall and commanding, prepared to do anything to get what he wants. The outline of his massive cock is so mouthwatering that I know, humiliating as it is, that I will beg him to return the favor.
But his eyes are suddenly cold again, staring at something behind me.
“It is dawn, Talysse.”
I push myself up and look back to the tiny kitchen window. Pink light streams in through the iron bars.
We both know what this means.
At dawn, we become enemies again.
And for the first time in my life, I curse the daylight.
Talysse
