“Fuck,” he groaned, “you are so perfect for me.” He breathed into me as his thrusts increased. And then he came, heavy and forceful, pushing into me until his pelvis strained at my entrance.
He let himself crash down, the weight of his chest resting wonderfully against my face. Several moments passed before he rolled onto his back and sucked in long breaths. His breath settled into a steady rise and fall and mine began to mimic his.
Moving to his side, he rubbed a hand up my left arm, tracing the gray smoke of my tattoo winding its way up between the various black and gray shaded oleander flowers. My skin prickled with the sweet tickle of his touch.
“We’re gonna fix this,” he mused as his hand skirted across my skin.
“Fix what?” I asked, my mind still fuzzy.
“You can’t keep this once we’re married,” he hummed. “A healer will repair your skin if you’re to wear the crown of a queen.”
I laughed and sobered. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all.” His face scrunched. “Have you ever seen a royal with a tattoo? I mean other than the sigil the kings bear.”
“Well, I’ve never seen a royal until I met you and your sister, so I suppose I haven’t.” I shrugged and let my mind wander to the possibility of being his wife. “I’ll wear long sleeves for formal occasions.”
“No.” Ryder’s tone shifted, anger edging his voice. “A healer will fix this, and if they can’t, we’ll speak to Elowen.”
I sat up on an elbow and placed my other arm across my breast, feeling a bit more exposed than I liked. “There’s nothing to fix,” I snapped. Whatever fog I’d been relishing in dissipated entirely. “It stays or leaveswithme.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s only ink on your skin.” He lit a candle beside the bed, throwing shadows against the wall behind him.
“Would you say the same of the sigil?” The meaning behind my tattoo didn’t need to be explained. All he needed to know was that it was a part of me, and the matter wasn’t up for debate. I wouldn’t concede to his demands—not when it came to my body.
“Do not be foolish.” He moved across the room and disappeared into the bathing room. A steady stream dropped into the toilet, filling the silence. “It’s not up for discussion,” Ryder’s voice boomed behind the door.
I strode to the closed door. “You’re right, it’s not.” Turning around, my eyes landed on the book face down and spread open on the red-toned desk. The title:Rivale Records of Execution, burned into my mind.
A rush of adrenaline shot through my system, causing my hands to tremble. The bathing room water turned on, and I heard the trickle of water followed by Ryder brushing his teeth. I flicked through the pages, looking at the dates. The book contained the year of my brother’s execution; I only needed to find it.
My focus narrowed as I rushed through the book, whooshing filled my ears and my heart pounded beneath the skin of my still-naked chest.
I’d finally made it to the month of my brother’s execution. I traced my finger frantically, going line by line, searching for the very last day of the month.
My finger found the twenty-sixth day, and when I went to look at the next page, it jumped to the fourth of the following month. I turned the page back and then flipped it forward again. Six days were unaccounted for.
“Is there something specific you’re looking for?” Ryder’s voice drawled behind me.
30
AUDRYN
The tall woman lumbered behind me, pulling the comb and forcing it down from the tips of my hair toward my scalp. I had told Leanna I’d place my hair into a braid, but she insisted I needed to have a meticulous design for the formal dinner.
Memories still flooded me from the previous evening. Things had gone from basking in the afterglow of pleasure to an impressive verbal lashing for snooping through a book—a book I had every right to look at. When I explained I was only trying to get information about my brother’s execution, Ryder hastily informed me he’d ordered all records pertaining to my family to be destroyed.
My heart shattered. And when tears flooded my eyes, his face contorted into disdain as he threw my clothes at me. He’d dismissed me from his room and forced me to dress in the corridor. I was thankful for the grace of the land when I found the hall vacant.
“You need to hold still,” the woman demanded. “If not, your hair will not reach the full height needed for the design the princess has selected for you.”
My eyes roamed over my reflection. Most of my hair stood tall on my head without the use of any pins. “I’m pretty sure it’s high enough. Maybe we can even brush it down a bit?” I didn’t know what her plans were, but it seemed to only get worse as she continued.
In the end, I was left with an ache in my head and a gigantic dome atop it. The hair sculpture was fit to house a swarm of bees, though I'd be wearing it to dine with a family of hornets. Unlike bees, hornets preferred flesh to pollen. They thrived on devouring the carcasses of others, and Ryder had made me his prey.
Opening the thin wooden door of the armoire, I smiled at my mother’s emerald gown pressed against the wall of the closet. There were no frills, no lace, just pure deep green satin shining back at me.
I clasped the hanger and carried the gown away. Holding it high, taking care not to let its skirt drag on the floor, I hung the tip of the hanger gently over the open bathing room door.
