“Kieran, you’re going to need to clean up before we get there.”
He kissed her, for five searing, passionate seconds.
“I intend to make full use of the carriage ride over. I can clean up after.” He ushered her from the office and locked it behind them.
—
Jeremiah Fulton watched North and his wife flee North’s office. The workday still had two hours remaining, but they were heedless as they bolted into the afternoon. He swallowed, an embarrassed sort of heat filling his cheeks. He turned to one of his colleagues and she gave him a sympathetic nod.
Good lord, they must be insatiable.
—
Sera’s climax had rocked the carriage. Their clothes were askew, buttons undone, clasps left open, and bliss had threatened to make them sluggish as the carriage pulled to a stop outside Winter. They had made use of every second of the ride, because once they reached home, there would be no more scandalous activities until well into the evening. Doing up buttons and fastening his pants in hasty abandon, they sorted their clothes enough to race home without tripping.
Tarley met them at the door.
“Are we late?” Sera asked, out of breath as she shirked off her coat.
“Not quite, but Miss North is getting antsy,” Tarley answered.
“Okay, so we have a second.” Sera and Kieran took the stairs two at a time and separated to their individual tasks. Sera had her own private rooms, heated with lava stones to her preferred temperature. She also had an entire wardrobe dedicated to her home attire.
After several years of trying to find ways for Sera to be warm enough in their home, she had devised a variation of lava stones that were threaded into the fibers of her clothes. She was perfectly cocooned in warmth no matter where she went in the house.
Her breakthrough had launched an entirely new line of fashion where anyone might buy clothes that could alter their ambient temperature. Winter Fae could buy clothes laced with glacite when venturing through the city, same for Summer or Day Fae in cooler months. They had been wealthy before, but the funds generated from her various improvements to the city and ingenious inventions combining fae and human technologies had ensured their family’s stability for several generations to come.
Sera threw on the first decent dress from her home wardrobe and quickly washed her face and hands. She fumbled to redo her hair in record time.
Kieran saw to his own clothes and hygiene.
They could hardly show up at their appointment reeking of sex.
Kieran met her on the stairs and eyed her hair with a sigh. “Unacceptable, our instructions were to ‘be presentable to the royal court.’ This will never pass muster.” He began to help her adjust her silky strands into a more refined arrangement. He had put on his best tails, the invitation to the event had insisted on black-tie.
Once he approved Sera’s hair, they joined arms and proceeded into the back garden of their home.
Luminore had been placed around the patio and a table set in the center with five chairs around it. Two were already occupied, dignitaries from faraway countries if Kieran remembered correctly, and their host tapped a very impatient foot as they approached.
“Apologies for our tardiness, my lady,” Kieran dipped into a low bow, “but your mother lost track of time.”
Sera speared him with a glare of betrayal as he rounded the table and held out her chair.
Lark North was seven years old with Sera’s dark eyes and Kieran’s snowy hair—no one was quite sure where the curls had come from, but they bounced along her back as she took her place at the most important seat at the table, clearly marked by the assorted sticks, leaves, and weeds adorning it.
The table was laid out with a lovely tea service and finger sandwiches, some pine cake for him and some honeyed toast for Sera, but Kieran noted the elegant vase was adorned with flowers that looked suspiciously similar to those in the frontoff-limits garden. A conversation for another time, this was an important event, after all.
“Now. Let us begin. May I pour you some tea, my lord?” Lark asked, gesturing to Kieran’s glass.
“Yes, thank you, my lady.” It was a rule that he always refer to Lark as ‘my lady’ during her tea parties and her harsh scolding had cemented the habit very quickly.
“I would love some tea,” Sera said, holding out her own cup.
Lark lifted her chin. “Tea is for those who were not late.”
Kieran grinned as Sera leveled him with her eyes. He knew better than to admit fault and, yes, he had passed the blame as quickly as a grenade.
“But I suppose you may have some toast,” Lark gestured to the plate. “Help yourself.”
