We did have much to discuss, but I would play her game first.
“Why do you ask? Jealous? Or do you wish to join their ranks?”
I expected her to laugh. Or offer some coy, Aetherian response. Instead, Lyra sipped her ale, long black lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes above the mug’s rim.
“So elusive, as usual. Let me be clear, Lyra: I would lay you down on that bed and make you scream louder than you have in the long life you’ve lived and be happier for it. You know well the urge to do so, against my better judgment, has been there for as long as we’ve known each other. What I don’t understand is the reason, for the first time in memory, you pretend otherwise.”
The urge to unsettle her was so strong, I would likely say, or do, anything to make it happen. Alas, she remained unaffected.
Would anything rattle this woman? I doubted so.
It would be entertaining, however, to discover if such a thing were possible.
“I’ve never pretended otherwise, Prince Terran. Not this eve, nor earlier, nor any time we’ve been in each other’s company these past many years. But I’m not here because I find you unsettlingly attractive, despite your foul demeanor. We’ve more important matters to discuss.”
Unsettlingly attractive.
Foul demeanor.Her words did little to improve it.
“Then cease fluttering your lashes, Lyra. And answer my question.”
There. A spark of… something. Finally.
Did she guard herself so carefully because it was an honored tradition in her clan, especially among the nobility? Or because Lyra hid something deeper that she allowed few to see? With no evidence for the latter, I’d always imagined it might be so.
What, I could not be certain. But the urge to prod her to reveal more had never quite gone away, even though I’d willed it to do so many times in the past.
“I do not,” she insisted, “flutter my lashes. As well you know.”
A fact that mattered little. Leaning into her irritation seemed prudent.
“Nay? You’ve done all but say, ‘Fuck me Terran,’ since you’ve arrived,” I said, using the crude human word a’purpose.
“You are confusing your own desires with my own,” she said coolly.
“I’ve not denied mine, unlike you.” Leaning forward, I reminded her of an interaction she likely had forgotten, but I had not. “The Festival of Tides, at the ceremonial banquet. You watched the water dancers, barely clothed, as their erotic movements which stirred more than one cross-clan coupling?—”
“You stood behind me,” she said, as if we spoke of the most mundane of topics.
I gave her the same look now as I had that eve. If Lyra had turned toward me, away from the dancers, I’d have taken her into my arms, and my bed, that very eve.
I had known it. She had known it. The look that passed between us was one of night-time awakenings after dreams of a kiss that never happened.
“You remember.”
I was no Aetherian, but even I could sense that the rate of her breath had increased.
Three times in as many moments, I’d struck gold. And would not relent. Unfortunately, Lyra had caught onto my game and was no longer playing. The cool facade was back, and it seemed we’d be back to discussing matters of more import.
“Well done, my lord,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Now tell me why you’ve really come here.”
She refilled us both. Slowly. Smoothly. Every movement like a whisper in the wind. We could not be more opposite. Perhaps that was why she intrigued me so.
Sitting back, Lyra studied me.
Measured me.
