“Gods,” she breathed, arching her back even more.
“No,” Azriel said, turning his attention to the other breast and repeating his affections. “No, my love. You belong to me, and I do not want to hear you calling for them while I am inside you.”
At that, Azriel took her nipple in his mouth and sucked. She cried out again, this time worshipping his name alone. He grinned up at her as he teased the hard tip with his tongue, then straightened again to continue thrusting into her.
“I love you. “Ariadne shifted her grip from his neck to his horn.
Azriel kissed her still-parted lips. “Until the very end.”
Whether it was his words or his cock or his teasing that drove her to climax for a second time, Ariadne did not know, nor did she care. All she knew was that he followed her over the edge as her core gripped him hard. He impaled her one last time, his length filling her so completely that she could not so much as think.
Only when he pulled himself free, leaving her leaking from both their orgasms, did any form of coherent thought return. She sat up tall to kiss him gently and felt the dungeon cold sweep across her exposed breasts, sending a chill through her.
“I liked this dress,” she said as she leaned back to touch the frayed edges.
“Hmm.” He surveyed her. “I much prefer you naked.”
Her mouth curled into a smile. “Even as we go upstairs, where anyone could see me?”
A darkness shadowed his gaze. “I would be forced to pluck the eyes from anyone who dared to look upon you.”
“Then I suggest,” she said, running her lips along his jaw, “that you give me your shirt and save an innocent’s eyesight.”
Azriel growled in return. “A merciful Queen.”
With that, he reached over his shoulder and tugged the shirt from his back. His muscles flexed in the low light. Ariadne ran her hands up his abdomen, relishing the way he felt beneath her touch—no longer a skeletal shadow of himself as he had been after Algorath, but the healthy and strong husband she knew and loved.
She accepted his shirt, draping the excess fabric over her shredded dress when a thought slipped into her brain that she had never had before: if anyone ever tried to take him from her again…she would kill them without remorse.
Chapter 20
Everything moved too quickly for Emillie’s liking. One minute, she was in Laeton, married to a Lord Governor. The next, she was traveling with high fae merchants and their lycan guard. Then working with dhemons to break her sister out of Loren Gard’s hold. Now she stood in a stone garden overlooking Algorath with someone who was essentially an ex-warden, plotting how to break into the largest prison in the mage city.
This wasnotwhat she had signed up to do.
Pulling her shawl closer, she thanked Revelie as her friend handed her a steaming cup of chai—a drink that Revelie now claimed to enjoy after the first shock of it. They stood in silence together for a long moment, dressed in Algorathian dresses borrowed from Phulan. Between the two of them, Revelie had been most excited about the fresh clothes. Ariadne’s wardrobe did not fit her quite right, and being stuck in too-large trousers with no proper sewing supplies had put a damper on the seamstress’s mood.
Of course, Revelie looked stunning in the vibrant colors of the desert fashion. Had she no Caersan veins webbing up her neck, many people would likely believe her to be a mage herself. She was, perhaps, the easier of the two of them to hide in plain sight. A wrap of a shemagh and her vampiric lineage disappeared.
The silence ended when Phulan stepped in beside them. “We need your help.”
Emillie sipped her tea and turned to study the mage. “I may have traveled with Edira for some time, but I never once learned how to fight. I am not my sister.”
Brows pinching, Phulan scoffed. “I’m well aware you are not Ariadne.”
“We have no skills for a prison break,” Revelie said. “Why did you bring us? We were under the impression that we were gatheringfreemages to assist in the war.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Phulan motioned for someone to join them. A moment later, the mage named Paerish appeared. They did not wear their shemagh anymore, revealing a sharp, ochre face, shaved head, and glittering eyes of burnt umber lined with kohl. Paerish leaned back on the low wall before them, the curved sword at their hip tilting awkwardly to one side, and crossed their arms over their chest.
“You are more valuable amongst the underground than you realize,” Paerish said, their voice low and smooth. “As the sister of the Desmo Killer, you are just as important to those of us who wish to bring down the system that controls the Pits.”
A brush of fur against Emillie’s hand told her Luce had joined the conversation. Having her nearby gave her a surge of confidence. “I think the Pits are despicable, yes, but I have no way to help with any of that—not while my name is sullied in Valenul and my titles are stripped away.”
Paerish smirked. “Do you know how your sister killed Melia Tagh?”
It never felt good to be the one without the answers. Emillie strode to have some semblance of knowledge in every possible category of conversation. What she didnotknow, however, was how Ariadne had managed to bring down a powerful illusionist—one who worked her way up from nothing to becoming one of the most powerful women in Algorath. The question had never occurred to her. It seemed almost superfluous to ask.
“Her blood,” Revelie answered. When Emillie shot her a stunned look, her friend shrugged. “We had a lot of time while I was adjusting her wedding dress to talk about everything she had done since leaving Laeton.”
