It would fucking shatter my heart, and although he’d never admit it, Daire’s too.
I scrunch up my nose at the sweet, floral scent, which is thick in the air.
I’m the wolf who escaped the Mate Hunt. Survived being rejected by my first love, the prince of my own kingdom. The pet who became a dragon rider.
I will not be defeated now.
Maximinus left me in here tocleansemyself ritualistically.
The saying in Fang Kingdom, however, isonce a thief, always a thief.
And the most cunning thief in the Orm Court must be able to find something to steal to get me out of this fake arranged marriage.
“You know that I am always down for fun with you, love,” a musical but icy voice drawls behind me. “But shall we leave the blood play to Sin?”
I turn to the rectangular baths, which are vast and take up the far side of the room.
Daire, my charming bandit, rogue, and Raven King sprawls in the baths like he owns this kingdom, rather than being a captive who is about to be handed over as a Blood Lover to his enemy.
Daire’s gorgeous wings are crushed, his cheek is bruised, and his back is still welted, but he remains the most dangerous, primal, and beautiful fae of them all.
Daire’s glowing lavender eyes fix on me.
My breath catches.
Daire is the silver haired fae with ice white skin who has mesmerized me from the moment that I first watched him inspiring his troops.
He is the spellbinding lure who has caught me and never let go.
He is intoxicating, and every time that I see him, I am blinded just a little more by his otherworldly beauty.
Legends say that that you will be driven mad if you stare too long into the eyes of an Unseelie fae.
Yet their beauty also led to their downfall because it is why the dragons and vampires have fought to possess them, these feathered gods who created the shadows.
Daire swims through the water, using his wings to propel him. He is trying to hide how fucked up his left wrist is.
If he is meant to be a gift for Lanlin, then he’s a battered one.
But never a broken one.
Steam rises around Daire from the hot water. Rose petals float on the surface, as if a storm has blown them here from the rose garden, which once belonged to Aurelius’ mom.
Did Aurelius choose the petals?
Does he still care about us both? Think of us as pack?
Or are we nothing more than pawns to him?
The crimson petals cling to Daire’s silver curls, as if he’s still a free fae singing and dancing under the moon in the wild, frozen forests of the north. I ache to see him like that.
He compensates for the injury to his arm with his silky raven wings, which are almost large enough to touch the sides of the marble baths.
Water glistens on his powerful chest and arms.
Daire pushes himself up to rest on his forearms close to me on the edge of the baths.
How can he look relaxed?
