But he just can’t stop himself.
“Something along the lines of ‘I want you to kiss me, you fucking moron, and then bend me over that table.’”
“And I thought you weren’t a mind-reader.”
“I’m not going to do it.” He shakes his head and avoids looking at me. “I’m not letting them down.”
“Too bad,” I say. I start walking towards the door. “I guess we’ll just have to—”
He crosses to me and slams me against the door with a kiss. It’s even hungrier than last night. It’s the kiss of someone who has been doing nothing but thinking of kissing me again since we were interrupted. It’s the kiss of someone who cannot get enough of me, whose hands can’t stand being off of me for even one minute longer.
It's possessive and territorial and demanding. It’s his tongue claiming my mouth, his hands in my hair, pulling and begging and opening me to him.
It’s my arms wrapping around him, pressing him against my body, my hands on his back scratching at his skin beneath his shirt, trying to bring him closer—
And then it’s a touch of light on the back of my head where it hit the door. “Sorry,” he mutters to the side of my mouth as he heals me. He takes a gasping step back and then reaches for the handle.
“Let’s go,” he says, and I can see it takes every ounce of his strength to do so.
“You’re a selfless ruler,” I tell him.
“Don’t fucking remind me,” he says, pinching his brows in disbelief that he has to walk away from this again.
I follow him into the courtyard. He turns to look at me, then he stops to smooth my hair.
“Fuck it, just one more,” he says, and he kisses me again.
This one absolutely thrills me. We’re here in a public courtyard in the light of day. Anyone could see us. He wants me so badly, he doesn’t even care.
I let myself get lost inside of it for a minute, maybe two. Okay, maybe three. And then I finally break away from it because I can tell he’s close to not being able to.
“Come on,” I say. “There’s always the carriage ride at least.”
We share the carriage with Queen Claudia, who does not get the heavy hints Quinn drops to allow us some privacy. I should have some shame and try to avoid thinking lurid thoughts about Ronan in front of his grandmother, but it seems I’m somewhat shameless when it comes to him. I spend the entire ride thinking of what I want him to do to me, watching his face as he tries to hide what he’s sensing. Gods, it’s so fucking hot watching him squirm, watching him shift his legs and twitch his jaw. Sorry, Queen Claudia. What you don’t know won’t hurt you.
“I hope you’re having fun,” he whispers as we arrive once Queen Claudia has left the carriage. “I’m going to ruin these pants if you don’t stop.”
Fuck. My core is already heated from my own fantasies, but that image sends it molten.
It’s hard to focus on the rites of Sai. They’ve always been my least favorite anyway, although even Kerensa’s beautiful ceremonies would have seemed like a nuisance under these circumstances.
The Temple of Sai is near the northern wall, and this ceremony is my first visit since we’ve arrived. The practice of religion is quite personal in both Selara and Nithyria.Some families tend to adhere to one god or goddess over the others, participating in services honoring the others only on significant holidays or occasions like these festivals. Others devote themselves to all equally, alternating days of worship or even attending services for each on the same day.
We adhered more to Vahlo and Sai than the others, due in part to my parents’ preferences but also their locations. The temples of Vahlo and Sai are joined in Pyka, the city where I grew up. I suspect the reason is more logistical than anything else. Sai’s rites involve fire and blood, and Vahlo’s ash and bone, and those things tend to go together.
Ronan, as the embodiment of Vayla on earth, holds dominion over all the gods and goddesses, and so he performs the rites of Sai along with the head priestess of the temple at an altar draped in rich red fabrics. It’s a lot of burning wood and pouring blood and ritual incantations, ancient forms of magic that supposedly once opened the doors to the magical abilities that now manifest in each person without such efforts.
I think of the heretical things Ronan has said. About how the schools of magic aren’t as concrete as the Codex says, about how the qualities of people may not align as well as it seems. I think of what my parents said about how the hierarchy was nonsense.
Zara is in the front row just a few seats down from me. She gives me a tiny wave to avoid attracting attention when I meet her eye.
I think of something she said to me once about forbidden forms of magic. About the way she acted like Ronan was a hindrance to her work.
Could she know something about what Hermes was doing with the shadow-born? Could it have been at her request?
“The blood of the fallen,” says a priest as he approaches with a cup. It’s just red wine, thankfully. This was the only part of Sai’s rites that I enjoyed as a child. I remember playing with a littleservant boy after the service, pretending we were drunk from a single sip.
I take the cup offered to me and drink from it.
