“Love?” More giggling. “I do like the sound of ‘Lady Reign.’ ”
“I do, too.”
Lucan’s Tree.I feel queasy at the talk alone. Maxian dips his head, capturing her mouth in his. He pushes her onto her back, climbing on top, mostly clothed. They lie facing the foot of the bed, facing me.
As they grind, she squeaks out empty sounds. I push down my disgust.Is this what they have Lila do?Just stand there and stare? I guess it works for some. If I wanted to put on a show, I’d at least make it entertaining. Distracted, I let my genius unfold in my mind, frenetic and frenzied, energy prowling beneath my skin. The plane shifts, picks up in vibration.
When I refocus on the act before me, my breath catches.
The king watches me. As his thumb twists the nipple of the female, he watches me. As his mouth finds her neck and sucks, his eyes search mine for any sign of desire, any heat that he is the greatest lover in the land.
According to the forceful, pitchy moans of his bedmate, I know he is not.
I keep my expression dull. As the king pushes harder, his touches growing desperate and sloppy, his partner tires of her own performance. They wanted to be seen. They never specified in what light. I stifle a yawn.
The king crawls off, and his lover pushes herself up. “Why’d you stop?”
“Just wanted a change of pace.” He meets my eye. “Avery,” hesnaps, the sound cracking through the space like a whip. “Come closer.”
I circle the bed until I stand at its side.
“Kneel,” he commands.
I drop to my knees, lean back on my heels. The fae’s attention flits back and forth between us.
He nods. “Good. Shall we continue?”
The fae hesitates, then gives way. She pulls her nightgown over her head, shaking out her sunset hair. Her nipples are hard, hips curving into thick thighs. She is beautiful, and regardless of what she’s said about me, I feel for her. She needs something, wants something, and also must put up with Maxian to get it. I do not judge using the king. He uses everyone.
“My turn on top,” the fae coos, and Maxian grins, leaning back against the pillows and headboard. She climbs on top of him, bracketing his legs with her own. He runs his hands up her thighs, and she flips her hair to one side.
They dive into their show again, smacking and groaning, the sounds and gestures growing more exaggerated, more desperate, but not for each other—rather, for a gaze they attribute to me, one that is only really in themselves.
Planes, no wonder his litany of lovers can stretch around the palace thrice over, something males always like to brag about. No one came back for seconds.
As they flail, the power of the fae deflates before me. These statuesque, striking creatures—the most alluring in the land—cannot enjoy pleasure. Even in their desire, the fae will not messy themselves, will not grasp and beg for and earn the body of another. They will never worship and never be worshipped, and so then, what is the point? To value the look of sex over its feel is to misunderstand it.
And the king never takes off his tunic.
They steal glances in my direction, distractedly, and fumble with each other, and suddenly it is not enough. It’s not enough to know that I am a better lover than the king.
I need him to know it, too.
I let my bored genius stretch its wings, buzzing, unsatisfied, along the plane.
The female breaks apart. “Okay, I can’t do this with her staring at us.”
“Is that not the point?” I ask.
“It’s the way you’re staring.”
“How’s that?”
“Like a dead fish.”
It takes everything in me not to laugh. Maxian frowns furiously, and I feel a thrill. Not of desire but of the game. If I cannot spill the blood of those I hate, why not heat it? There is a little death in that still, and their shame ensures I can get away with absconding their control.
They take and take and take. Perhaps I should take, too. My genius hums at the very idea.
